


Master and Seedling

by Black_Teapot



Category: Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AgriCorps (Star Wars), Alien Biology, Alien Qui-Gon, Angst, Aromantic Obi-Wan Kenobi, Aromantic spectrum, Asexual Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bandomeer, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Force Visions, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Lineage Feelings, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Melida/Daan, Missions, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Qui-Gon's background is changed a bit, Sentient Plant Qui-Gon, Slice of Life, War, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 92,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Teapot/pseuds/Black_Teapot
Summary: Master Qui-Gon Jinn was a sentient force-sensitive plant, the only one of his species to live in the Temple. Hurt by his former Padawan's demise he never wanted to have another human apprentice again..Initiate Obi-Wan knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to become a Jedi Knight. He wanted to learn, to joke sometimes and to be plenty serious during his missions to keep the Republic safe. And he wanted to do it with Qui-Gon Jinn as his Master.
Relationships: Feemor & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Bant Eerin & Garen Muln, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Tahl, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Tahl (Star Wars)
Comments: 213
Kudos: 237
Collections: Mace Windu Fandom Safe Space





	1. The Youngling

**Author's Note:**

> This is my new project! And my first multi-chapter fanfic in the Star-Wars fandom. I've got a lot of ideas for this universe, so there will be plenty of chapters!  
> The tags will be evolving with each new chapter but the rating should remain T. We'll go from the Jedi Apprentice Serie (Knowledge of these books isn't required to understand this fanfiction) to Star Wars IV.  
> I've made an edit for the story; it's posted with the first chapter.  
> Enjoy!

Obi-Wan Kenobi was an Initiate who knew exactly what he wanted.

At nearly thirteen fear was beginning to eat him; he doubted that he would ever be chosen to become a Padawan. But he left his anxiety to his long nights in the dormitory. During the day he had more important things to do, namely joke with Bant and Garen, fight against Siri during the lightsaber classes and ignore Bruck –as best as possible.

Since he was a child he had strange dreams. Darkness filling his vision, the impression of being weightless and a comforting voice. It murmured things to him. “Knight.” “Flowers.” “Lightsaber.”  
Nothing really mystical or understandable after all. But Obi-Wan had written down every word uttered in a little notebook hidden beneath his mattress. He read them again when he doubted his path. Something believed in him out there –other than himself and Bant.

The Initiate knew his faults. He had difficulties to concentrate when Bruck started to sneer and mock him and generally ended by doing stupid things. Like the time he punched him in front of Master Cin Drallig. Or this afternoon two months ago when he had finished head-first in the water in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.  
Maybe he hadn’t shown the best part of himself that day.

Despite all of this he still hoped a Master would see the potential in him. He remembered Master Yoda’s words about the Force. About the importance of believing.

And Obi-Wan always kept faith.

* * *

Today the Initiates from age ten to thirteen were gathered in one of the biggest dojos. They were standing together, each of them having a large area to move freely. More than thirty Knights and Masters were settling down in front of them, talking quietly.

“It’s intimidating; I’m not sure these displays are the best way to prove ourselves to the Order. It is just stressful.” Bant almost seemed brown, her skin affected by her tension.

“You only think that while we're waiting. Once we’ll have begun you’ll enjoy it too.” Obi-Wan smiled gently, trying to ease her.

“I know…” She sighed, conscious she was letting her fear control her. “Thank you for reassuring me.”

“Younglings!” Arna Tallu, one of their lightsaber instructor, asked for their attention. “We’ll begin with the kata of the falling leaf and end with the calm river’s one. Be ready!”

Obi-Wan ran his eyes over the Jedi’s crowd, searching for familiar faces. He could see Master Fisto talking with a large Wookiee and behind them the small silhouette of Master Yoda. His heart beat faster and hope surged in him when he saw who was accompanying him: Master Jinn was here.

There weren’t any doubts as his profile was highly recognizable. He was the only one of his species in the Temple.

Obi-Wan looked at the big Jedi as he moved one of his appendages toward the other Master. He was towering everyone; the Initiate thought he had to be at least two meters and twenty centimetres tall.  
The Initiate had often wondered about Master Jinn’s home planet. It had to be one of these little-known worlds covered by deep and impenetrable tropical forests with ever-blooming life. Water would be everywhere: in the everlasting rain, the rivers and the mangroves. There had to be no finer world for a sentient force-sensitive plant like him. The contrast with overly urban Coruscant was staging. It must be uncomfortable to live here.

The Nyaman was impressive when you looked at him. He was long-limbed and covered by dozens and dozens of tentacle-like lianas. They were very nimble and prehensile as he used them to fight with his lightsaber. His body was more or less hidden by them but Obi-Wan thought he must move thanks to his roots. As his silhouette didn’t permit it he wasn’t wearing the Jedi uniform. He only had a utility belt wrapped around him at mid-length on which his lightsaber hung. The Master must also have a mouth concealed somewhere because he had heard Qui-Gon speak Basic in the refectory.

Obi-Wan knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to become a Jedi Knight. He wanted to learn, to joke sometimes and to be plenty serious during his missions to keep the Republic safe. And he wanted to do it with Qui-Gon Jinn as his Master.

Yes, their bodies were very different, but Yoda had been Qui-Gon’s mentor. So everything could be possible! He had the chance to see him during a friendly fight, one day. He was spectacular. The Jedi also was really tall when Obi-Wan himself was short. That could be useful during infiltration missions! He was a Jedi consular, very knowledgeable in diplomacy as well as an accomplished warrior.

The Initiate had countless reasons to want to be his Padawan. He had already told most of them to Bant, who just kept sighing seeing his stubbornness. But the most secret and true one was that this felt right. That he couldn’t see himself with anybody else.

So he inspired deeply and centred himself, letting the Force envelop him as he took the first position.  
“We begin, Initiates!”  
As one they extended their right leg and turned, lightsabers pointed toward the ceiling. They were opened to the Force, connected together. Obi-Wan smiled, blood beating in his veins, closed his eyes and let himself be carried by the low flow of the kata.

* * *

“What did you think of this display, Qui-Gon?” Mace seemed quite enthusiastic for his part. “The new generation seems to have a good grasp on the Force. Some of the Initiates shown great potential."

“I don’t have any opinion, Mace.” Stars, he didn’t want to take part in this discussion. Maybe if he said something they would let him be. “I suppose they were adequate.”

“Adequate? Hard to please you are, Qui-Gon.” Too late. Master Yoda had joined them, strangely quickly for he had really short legs. “Flair, the Rodian youngling has. Gifted too, the auburn-haired child is.”

He knew too well the look on his old Master’s face. Oh no, they would not talk about this again! “I’m not interested in gifted younglings.”

“Why did you come here, then?” Mace seemed surprised. He wouldn’t if he knew Yoda as well as himself. He was a pugnacious little thing.

Qui-Gon mumbled an answer. “Because Yoda would stop to make this delicious black tea I take when I visit him. It’s really good for my roots. I haven’t found his supplier yet. He knows it’s my favourite and uses it to _push_ me to do things.”

Apparently, Mace’s eyebrows could go very high on his bold head. “Alright. Well, it’s still a good occasion to spot future Padawans. It had been some time since you taught someone.”

“Look at them, you should. A good match for you, some of the Initiates could be.” Qui-Gon followed his former master’s gaze and saw the young boy with auburn hair. He was laughing with a Mon Calamari, his hands making wide gestures. The Nyaman felt his heart hardened.

“I told you I didn’t want a new Padawan. Especially a human one!” He felt some of his lianas tensing and decided he had enough of this attitude for today. “I bid you a good day. Goodbye Master!”

With these last words, he left the room without looking back.

* * *

The night had already fallen on Coruscant and the Temple was quiet when someone knocked at the door of Master Jinn’s quarters. The tall alien, calmer after some hours of meditation in the Room of a Thousand Fountains under a radiant sun, went to meet his visitor. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Mace Windu standing before him. He knew the man would have some questions for him.

“Come inside, I’ll make you something to drink. Do you want water or something else?”

“A glass of water would be enough; I did mock fights this afternoon and need to rehydrate myself.”

Mace watched the Nyaman take a glass with a thin liana and fill it with water dexterously. He was always fascinated by the way this body moved. He thanked his host and started sipping the drink.

“You have questions.” A bold beginning was always better with him, or they could dance around the subject for hours.

“Yes. But first I’m happy to see you’re feeling better. You were tensed this morning.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that.” Apologized Qui-Gon. “I don’t like when Yoda is forcing my hand so I was irrationally irritated. Going into the garden afterwards helped me to understand better the situation. I know he still thinks of me as his Padawan and tries therefore to help me. But I’m grown; I haven’t been a seedling since almost a hundred years. He can’t keep making decisions for me.”

“I understand. It must be stifling.” Lianas nodded in agreement. “I’ve noted you expressed the wish not to have Padawans anymore. You said you would especially not consider human ones. Can you tell me why you came to this conclusion?”

Qui-Gon took a large glass of water and put three of his lianas in it. They curved gently in the liquid. “You know I’ve had two Padawans?”

“I knew a bit about your last one. But I was younger at the time and most of it was corridor rumours. So I’d prefer to have your direct testimony.”

“That’s honourable of you. Most people preferred to add sensationalism to the rumours rather than to know the truth.  
I was apprenticed by Yoda, who was from a different species than me. Our partnership went well, so I decided as a Knight that I would not discriminate my apprentices depending on their race. If someone had done that to me I may never have had the opportunity to become a Jedi, as I still am the only Nyaman of the Temple.

“My first Padawan was Feemor Att’Kla, a Caamasi. He was generous, compassionate and very energetic. We had to communicate a lot because our differences made it difficult to understand some of our needs. I have very joyful memories of our time together. His knighting made me a Master and I became arrogant. I thought I could do well with any youngling that caught my attention.

“I met Xanatos on his homeworld, Telos IV. He was a very young human at the time, five or six standard years-old, and bright in the Force. I asked his parents if I could bring him to the Temple. He spent the whole ride sitting on me and playing with my lianas. I remember feeling he would make a good Jedi; I honestly hoped I could be the one to train him. So I went to see him a few times at the crèche and chose him as my Padawan when he was of age. I was a fool.

“When he became a tween, things started to go wrong. We weren’t compatible. I was too anchored in the Living Force for him and couldn’t understand all the questions going through his head: about his family, about his appearance, about power, about his peers… I chose to remain blind to this. It poisoned him. He turned against me during his last mission as a Padawan. Xanatos found his father and chose him over me, menacing me with the lightsaber I helped him to build. He left the Order and fell.”

“I had heard that Padawan du Crion was dead.” Commented Mace.

“He could as well be. The child I tried to raise died this day. He fled the palace as the rioters began to storm it. I never saw him again.”

“And you think it was a consequence of his temper or of your failings?”

Qui-Gon was visibly affected by the question and tried to answer it sincerely. “A bit of both certainly. I realised with time that we were too different. I can’t understand humans enough to take one as my charge. As a Nyaman I couldn’t raise Xanatos to be a functional human adult. It’s an insuperable obstacle.”

“I can understand this, even if I don’t really agree with your conclusion.” Explained Mace. “Maybe you could take a Padawan from another species then. A mammalian, as Feemor? Or a reptilian; they have needs closer to your own.”

“It’s terrible to have one of your students turning against you. For all his failings I loved Xanatos. I don’t think I have it in me to take that risk again.”

The silence following this sentence was a fragile thing. Qui-Gon seemed tired, his lianas having a faded green complexion and hanging low without energy. His Force presence was strained.

“Thank you for explaining all of this to me. I won’t bother you with Initiates any longer. I hope you’ll find peace now, Master Jinn.”

“Thank you for listening without judgement, Master Windu. Maybe we could meet again this week in the dojos; I think some lightsaber training would be good for me.”

“It will be my pleasure. Good night, Master Jinn.”

“Good night.”

Qui-Gon went to the window, staring at the traffic he disliked so much on this planet. He felt weary and jaded to his very heart. The Jedi closed his curtains noisily and settle down in front of one of his potted plant.

Perhaps he would be able to feel the peace he longed for after another deep meditation. It was what the Jedi taught to each other after all.


	2. Of Dust and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your reactions; it's really encouraging!  
> So here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

It was little to say that things had gone wrong. Obi-Wan felt as if his life had gone out of tracks. Despite his beliefs, despite his hope, he had been sent away from the Temple without a Master to join the Agricultural Corps. Never had a spaceship seemed so cold to him. He had huddled with the other passengers travelling to the Outer Rim, his small bag squeezed against him. The former Initiate had been facing a young mother with her burgundy-skinned child. The girl had been staring at him as he had let a few tears fell down his cheeks. Her mother had given him a cereal bar when dinner time had passed.

Afterwards, Obi-Wan had seen long lianas turning into a small corridor. He had run toward them, hoping for a new chance or a mistake. Maybe they hadn’t really sent him away, maybe Master Jinn was here to take him back-  
_This assignment? It was all a mistake. Come with me, I’m going to train you. Your friends were worried. Remember to smile when you will see them on the landing platform. They’ll be happy to see you._

But the encounter had been far bleaker. The Jedi Master had hardly look at him. He had seemed to dismiss him as he had announced that his travel toward Bandomeer wasn’t linked to his presence at all. That suspicion had risen around an industrial project on this planet. That he should forget his dreams and accept that he wasn’t mean to be a Knight. That being a part of the Agricultural Corps was honourable and his mind must be narrow if he couldn’t understand it.

It had been terrible.

Obi-Wan had been left alone with the crowd of anonymous people filling the common area of the ship. He had been feeling listless, emotions wearing him out until he had entered a restless sleep.

The awaking hadn’t been any simpler. And now here he stood, on the landing platform of his new home. His first impression of Bandomeer was of a dull, dusty and windy world. The air was twisting, blowing up his clothes and slithering into them, making him shake of cold. He had to squint to avoid the dust that made his eyes moisten. Obi-Wan supposed he had to find the AgriCorps representative now.

This task proved to be easy as a tall female alien was waiting for him near the tarmac. She had a very pale ivory skin and a long thin neck she had to bend to speak to him. “You’re the recruit, Obi-Wan Kenobi from Coruscant?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The young boy knew he should show a little more enthusiasm but he couldn’t find the force in himself to fake it. It was his luck that the representative didn’t seem to notice it.

“I was waiting for you. We have a twenty minute’s walk to reach the Corps facilities. I thought it could be an occasion to present you the situation on the planet.” She seemed to be waiting for his agreement.

“Yes, it’s a very good idea. Could you explain to me the reasons why the AgriCorps is working here?”

The smile she gave him was blinding and he felt a bit bad to be so inattentive today. “You must know that the Jedi Order is composed, among other things, of four Jedi Service Corps. The Medical Corps, rather small, training nurses, technicians and assistants for the Jedi Healers. The Educational Corps, who prepare people to become teachers or archivists. The Exploration Corps exploring the civilisations through archaeology and travel into the unknown systems. And the Agricultural Corps. We’re working with the Living Force to grow food which can be used to save planets suffering from famine. We also help to develop farming activities on worlds lacking resources.

“We have been working on the planet for almost a year to re-establish sustainable agriculture. The over-exploitation of this world’s mineral resources had led to the destruction of the farming areas. It was becoming critical to imagine a durable way of living for the surviving inhabitants…”

Obi-Wan listened absent-mindedly his guide. It was very difficult to concentrate on her. This night he had dreamed again of the soft and caring voice hidden in the dark. It had whispered to him words in rhythm, like poems. “Seedling. Jedi Knight. Adventures. Master. Blue blade. Flowers. Desert. Oasis. Jedi Knight.”  
He had felt safe and cradled by the presence. Home.

How could he live in the moment and accept his fate when something in him screamed that he was made to serve as a Knight? That he was made to be the blade and the voice guarding the Republic? Obi-Wan was feeling out of place as if he was living in a world without sense and walking on his head.

He saw Master Jinn leave from another exit toward a speeder, a man by his side. His lianas were wild under the strong wind.

He turned his head, swallowed his saliva and grimaced when he felt the unpleasant grit of dust on his tongue. 

* * *

_His vision was blurred. He had difficulties to understand where he stood. He could distinguish green things, the smell of damp soil, the hot and moist atmosphere of a greenhouse. There was fear in his heart. Something was coming._

_Then his environment turned red and boiling. There were rocks on the ground. His skin seemed to melt as everything exploded around him._

_In the end, nothing survived this disaster. The last thing he could see was an imprint on the floor. It was abstract and geometrical. If he had to describe it, he would say it looked like a small open circle._

Obi-Wan shuddered as he woke up violently. His nightmare was still vivid in his mind and he took the time to put some fresh water on his face, hoping to calm down. The young boy went to his bag, taking out his dream notebook. Something was telling him that this was important. He religiously wrote down what he saw and stared at the drawing he made of the strange symbol.

Maybe he still had things to accomplish after all.

* * *

The next morning had been busy. Obi-Wan encountered his superiors and received documentation about the AgriCorps' work on the planet. The youngest members of the Corps had invited him afterwards to eat with them, to get to know each other. He had felt awkward, surrounded by an unsmiling girl with a bobbed hairstyle, a silent boy and two very loud Rodians.

The arrival of yesterday’s guide was a liberation.

“S’raa! Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do you have any question about the facilities?” A pale smile was painted on her thin lips.

“I was wondering about the installations for the plants. Do you have greenhouses here?”

“Yes, we have a large one behind the administration’s building. We use it to grow plants too sensible to survive on the planet in its current state.”

Yes, that was a lead. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong but it would cost him nothing to check it. “Do you think you could give me a tour? I’m curious about it.”

“That is a good idea! New members often have difficulties to find their place here. Perhaps you’ll have a calling!” Obi-Wan didn’t want to discourage her and chose not to explain his real motivations.

Time to investigate.

* * *

The greenhouse was bigger than the young boy thought. Short sprouts and blossoming plants were planted in line. Sweet aromas floated in the air.

“We’re growing food for our needs as well as plants helping to clear the polluted and dry soil outside.”

Obi-Wan travelled down the aisles, opening himself to the Force. If he wanted to find something, he would need all the help he could get.

The young boy concentrated and realised he could feel the flowers and the plants buzzing around him. They seemed to be talking to him, manifesting their contentment. He could sense the presence of S’raa, a slightly force-sensitive individual. There were also earthworms and small insects among the leaves and the roots.  
And there… behind the wall facing the North. Something was wrong.

“Is there any room behind the greenhouse?” Asked Obi-Wan.

S’raa looked at him, puzzled. “No. Why would you think that?”

The auburn-haired boy walked toward the wall. “Because I feel something…” He touched it, sensing the cold white durasteel under his digits. It must be here… His finger brushed against a hidden panel. It was almost invisible to the naked eye.

Obi-Wan smiled. _There_ -

The door opened. The room behind it was very small; it could be referred to as a compartment. One person could barely stand up in here. It was filled with large boxes.  
The young boy felt the shocked silence of S’raa. He started to open one of them and frown when he saw the complexes electronic devices.

“Are these bombs?”

He wasn’t really looking for an answer when he asked that but he got one anyway.

“Well. Isn’t that a meddling little rat?”

Obi-Wan turned quickly to face the masculine voice coming behind him. He had the time to see a tall man with dark hair. His pale skin was almost immaculate, except for the scar marring his right cheek.

It looked like an open circle.

“We’re going to send you to sleep as we did to your friend. I hope you’ll like the surprise I’m preparing for you.”

The man winked at him, his silver eyes shining under the artificial light.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Qui-Gon didn’t understand how things had turned out so wrong. He had been sent to Bandomeer to mediate an accord between the Offworld Corporation, responsible for the mining activity on the planet and the Agricultural Corps. And now he was rooting here, locked in a mine, blocked in a cold tunnel dug in the rocks, far beneath the surface. All of this due to his former Padawan’s greed and desire for revenge.

He had finally seen Xanatos again. Instead of disappearing from the Galaxy he had created a company, gathered money and followers to accumulate wealth and power, just like his father. What a futile ambition. He had wanted so much more for this child when he had chosen him in the Temple… Qui-Gon couldn’t understand how wealth and power could be fulfilling to someone. The Nyamans didn’t have any monetary system on their planet. His education in the Temple had helped him to see the ins and outs of this economy relying on virtual money or metal coin instead of barter, sunlight and water. But how could his Temple-raised former Padawan be fooled by this illusionary and unequal system?

Now, Bandomeer’s weakened ecosystem was menaced again, despite more than a year of work accomplished by the AgriCorps. All of this due to Xanatos’ unchecked mining activity.

Apparently, he had even failed to teach him to respect a planet’s environment and life-forms.

It was difficult not to be bitter and to feel powerless when facing his worst failures.

Qui-Gon felt his lianas trembled in contact with the highly potent Ionite present in the mine. Xanatos had plundered this planet’s mineral resources to build weapons of massive destruction. Entombed in the mine by his former Padawan, he couldn’t control his shuddering body: Bandomeer’s state was proof enough that this heavy mineral had devastating effects on every vegetal life-form, sentient or not. His roots, who constantly touched the ground, were already less responsive and colder. A diffuse pain was growing slowly, like a wave.

But Qui-Gon wasn’t the only one in need of healing.

The fire-head youngling was entombed with him.  
Xanatos was apparently able to resent him and to be possessive of him nonetheless. So the boy was locked in here with him on the supposition that he was his Padawan. The Jedi Master felt regrets and an aching sense of loss when he looked at him.

The child was dirty and tired. The darkened former Jedi had taken his freedom and collared him. Qui-Gon’s water receptors could sense his blood in the air. His cheeks were bruised, his clothes ripped. In the Force, he felt young and afraid.  
No child should live to see his freedom taken from him.

“I know what to do.” His voice was small in the long room. Slowly, the autumn-hair boy walked backwards to lean on the locked durasteel door. “We need to get out of here to evacuate the mine before the bombs, hidden in the facilities by Xanatos, explode. But our only exit is closed and can’t be opened the classical way.” His small and pink hands made a fist. They were trembling against his legs. “I think I can do it. The collar… it’s rigged. Go as far away as you can and I’ll make it blow. The explosion will destroy the door.”

Qui-Gon stared at him as if he was speaking huttese.

“It will work, I swear! And you’ll be able to save the others.”

“I’m not going to do this, foolish child.” The Jedi Master’s voice was hoarse. But the youngling facing him was anything but foolish. He was shaking but kept his head high. Dirt was covering his skin. He seemed so small, diminished… Yet here he was, facing the fear menacing to eat him, proposing to sacrifice himself.

He was small, he was scared, he was hurt.  
He was standing tall, he was facing death to save others and found strength in it.

Something shook in Qui-Gon.

This boy, this fire-child who was staring at him, was different. He had something in him the Jedi Master had rarely seen in others.  
Something precious.

“Don’t do it, Padawan. Let me think for a second. We’re going to find a solution to leave this room together.”


	3. The Ember Boy Taking Care of His Plants

The bruises were vaster than he had thought. They littered the boy’s neck. Some were long and bloody. They had been made by the collar. Others were smaller, oval-shaped. Like fingers. Qui-Gon didn’t even want to think about them.

Finally safely back on a ship heading toward the Core Worlds, the mission done, they could treat their injuries. The Jedi Master put some healing salve on one of his wider lianas. “It’s going to be cold and to tickle a bit.” Then he started to spread it on the contusions, massaging the skin to ease the active substance’s penetration. The boy didn’t move too much, just flinching a little when the balm touched the few areas in which the skin was scratched. Qui-Gon felt obligated to encourage him. “You’re doing great. With this, your injuries will be a bad memory in a two-day time.”

“Thank you Master Jinn.” His voice was hesitant as he continued. “And what are you going to do for your… roots? You seemed to have difficulties to move.” Finally, he blurted: “I can help you with the salve if you want! Master Yoda taught me how to use it.”

“Do you often question your elders, youngling?” The boy’s face turned red with embarrassment. Well, they would have things to work on. But honesty was a quality he appreciated. “And how did you came to mix Yoda with a lesson about balms?”

The child stared hard at the floor as he mumbled an answer. “He often came to the crèche and we’ll talk together. I think he taught me this technique because he wanted more massage.”

Qui-Gon laughed at his answer. As a Nyaman, he didn’t have a noisy laugh comparable to the humans. But his silhouette shacked and his lianas moved more wildly, going outwards as their ends curled on themselves.

Now the boy had stopped to look at the floor to stare at him. He seemed absolutely entranced. Then he forced his gaze away. “I’m sorry if I’m staring. We’ve never been close to Nyamans in the Crèche.”

Qui-Gon was used to the way people looked at him. “I suppose you’re curious. But you’ll have time to try figuring me out during your apprenticeship. You have a few years before you to live as my Padawan.”

“So you were serious? You’ve chosen me?” The child’s eyes seemed to be burning. His breath trembled when he used the verb ‘chose’; this word seemed to have a strong connotation for him.

“Yes.” He was sure of it. The next years would be challenging, but to raise this boy would be a totally different experience, he could sense it in his very roots. And he won’t be so arrogant this time. He would ask for help. _After all, it takes sometime a village to raise a child.  
_“About my injuries… There was a high concentration of Ionite in the mine in which we were kept. It’s poisonous for most of the existing vegetal life-forms. My exposition wasn’t lethal but I will have to drain my roots to regain all my mobility. It takes some times, so I’ll do it later.”

Qui-Gon pointed out one of the chairs with his liana. “Now I want you to make yourself comfortable; we’ve got some topics I want to talk about.”

The boy sat down, his expression a mix between exhilarated and anxious.

“I think it’s obvious that we’re really different. We have highly dissimilar biology as we come from exceedingly different species. The major consequence is that we have dissimilar needs. As you’re nearly thirteen-years-old I think you are old enough to tell me what you think are your most important needs. Take your time to contemplate this question-” He continued when he saw the child open his mouth to talk. “It’s very serious. I’m asking you how well you know yourself. And you know the Code: _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._ ”

This time, the fire-head youngling took his time to meditate on the subject. When his voice finally began to echo in the room, it was small and hesitant. “I don’t need many things, Master Jinn. You won’t have to worry too much.” He seemed to be justifying himself, as if he wanted to take as little space as possible in the Master’s life. _Foolish child. I’ve made my decision, now. You don’t need to hide and to make yourself small enough disappear._ “I just need something to eat. Water. And a place to sleep. Like, a pillow and a blanket to put on the floor. That’s all!”

The idiot child sound proud of himself.  
For a fire-boy, he was prone to be as unobtrusive as embers. Maybe with good guidance, he could be as bright as a torch in the Force, leading his brothers and sisters away from darkness.  
For the moment, he would have to blow on the flame to make it grow.

“I’m afraid I’ll need more details. Let’s take an example. You say you need food. What do you mostly eat? One of my former padawan, Feemor, ate entire small rodents. Without heating them. And I’m a plant, so I’m absorbing nutrients through my pores and my roots. The human diet isn’t my speciality. Xanatos liked insects. Do you like them too?”

The boy became a bit green at his suggestion. “I don’t really like insects. Not unless this is a life-or-death situation.” Then a pensive expression grew on his face.  
This time, they may be on the right track.  
“I’m an omnivore, so I eat fruits, vegetables once they’re cooked. Fishes, shells, meat or eggs if they aren’t raw too. And baked goods!” _Ah, yes, those things full of sugar. Xanatos liked them too._

“Good. Now, about your sleeping habits. You say you can sleep on the floor. Would that permit you to be fully operational in the morning, ready for training? Would you be at your best?”

“I may be aching in the morning, my muscles stiffer than they would be if I slept in proper beddings. It’s normal in humans” He added, looking seriously at the Jedi Master.

“In this case, we’ll procure you what is considered as proper humans bedding. Do you have anything else to add, that you could have thought about?”

“I may need a chair and a desk to study.” _As it was, Qui-Gon already had chairs in his quarters. He had grown fond of them during his time with Feemor._ “And to be presentable I need regular showers as well as clean clothes.” _Clothes. Those strange hanging things humanoids put on themselves to hide from others and show their place in society. Useful piece of device._

“Very well; we’ll take care of that.” He drew one of his lianas to press it gently on the child’s shoulder. “Thank you for your honesty. We will need to continue to have these conversations if we want our time together to be fruitful.”

“I have a question, Master.” Asked the boy. “You talked about former Padawans. Could you tell me a bit more about them?” Maybe Qui-Gon would have liked to have more time before tackling this subject. But their journey on Bandomeer has indeed precipitated this order. “I was raised by Yoda and had two Padawans before you. The first was a male Caamasi, Knight Feemor Att’Kla. The second was human, too. Xanatos. He turned dark. He was the mastermind behind our adventure on Bandomeer. He fled as we finished to disarm the bombs.”

“The open circle-man?” The tremor sizing his liana answered the question. “I’m nothing like him, I promise! I won’t turn dark!”

“That’s heavy things to say as a child.” The Jedi Master shushed his response as he continued. “But I know that you’re not him.” This time, he let the liana shift from the small shoulder to his rib cage. “You have a different heart.”

They exchanged a long gaze before the Master started to talk again. “We’ll stay on this ship for a few more hours until it reached his destination, a well-known spatial port. We’ll have a short latency period before embarking into a second ship going as far as Coruscant. It will be an occasion to find some food to put into you.”

The boy’s stomach chose this moment to make a ruckus. He smiled at him, teeth showing, and at this moment Qui-Gon couldn't find a single reason to regret his choice. 

* * *

“There’re always too many people in this station” Grumbled the Jedi Master. “It will be easier if I shop alone for food this time.”

“Do you think I could still walk a bit here? We don’t have many opportunities to move around in the ship.” Obi-Wan’s legs were hurting at his knees and he had to unfold them for a moment.

“Yes, you can do it if you stay within this area, which includes our new docking platform, those two long corridors and the shopping gallery. There are too many chances to make a bad encounter outside of this perimeter. I also want you to settle down in our new cabin when you’ll feel tired. Can I trust you to do this?”

“Yes, Master!” He couldn’t wait to have the opportunity to discover a bit of the spaceport by himself. “I’ll be careful!”

“I’ll be done in one hour I think. I will see you soon, Padawan.”

This simple sentence filled his belly with warmth. Finally, the Voice has been right! He was on his path to become a Jedi Knight, under the guidance of the most formidable Master of the Order –to his humble and impartial opinion.  
But for now… Obi-Wan grimaced when he heard his articulations popping. Walking would do him good, indeed.

He started to wander slowly, his curious gaze observing his surroundings. The port was clearly made with efficiency in mind. The platform and the facilities were made of solid, unadorned durasteel or iron. The metal was just painted to offer a visual delimitation of the different areas. It made the orientation inside the station easier and quicker. The resulting building, enormous and buzzing like a hive, was remarkably ugly but functioning perfectly, its machinery oiled and honed.  
Obi-Wan’s eyes were therefore caught by a green spot nearly hidden by a baggage’s shop. He moved toward it and felt his eyebrows rose. A couple of flowers and small green plants were potted and exhibited on a wooden desk. The display was incongruous in the middle of this Kingdom of metal and transparisteel. The boy stopped in front of it, stepping aside to let the people passing in a hurry. He stared at the big purple flower; it seemed to be made of small bells with thin violet skin and dark blue veins. Maybe it had a heart hidden beneath the earth and pumping blood into it.

“You’re interested in the plants, young man?”

The low voice surprised him. He turned to the right to see his interlocutor. The old Zabrak standing beside him had light brown skin and long white hair. His horns were still sharps and his face seemed to tell a lifetime’s tale with its wrinkles and the green facial tattoos.

“So, you like them?” Repeated the vendor.

“Yes. It’s great to have some here; they are so out of place in this spaceport.”

“I had a lot more on display twenty years ago. But flowers don’t interest the pirates, spacers or visitor going through these walls. So I cut my losses, took most of them away and put newspapers or travel-kit in their place. It’s more profitable.”

“That’s awful. Newspapers are usually so terrible. Flowers tell far less fake information than them.”

The Zabrak’s loud guffaw almost made him hit the roof. “That’s a good boy! What is your favourite?”

Obi-Wan took his time to answer. “Maybe this one.” He pointed the bells one with his fingers. “It seems fragile with its thin petals. But something this purple can’t be weak. This colour- it’s an affirmation. It must be strong within.”

The old man’s eyes were sharp as they looked at him. “That’s insightful for someone of your age. Would you like to take it?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. “I’m not sure it would survive the trip back to our home. Ships are always too cold and the recycled air isn’t good enough for them. I wouldn’t like to be responsible for its death.”

“As you have guessed, this flower isn’t ordinary. It’s slightly force-sensitive. Some people even say it has a low form of sentience. It isn’t rare –I mean, you can find it in almost a dozen of worlds in great number. But it’s original, different from common plants. If you care for it, this flower would survive to your journey.”

The young boy stared at the plant again. He concentrated on his perception of the Force, sending an interrogative and curious wave toward the flower. Then his eyes widen as a trilling note answered to him.

_That. Was. Awesome._

The Jedi apprentice saw the smile growing on the vendor’s lips as he was more and more convinced that he could, _maybe_ , take this flower with him. “Do you have some advice to take care of it?”

“This plant likes to be exposed to the star during the day. It won’t do well on arid planets as well. Otherwise, just think to water it twice a week.”

Obi-Wan gathered his courage. “I’ll take it then.”

“Good! I give you the flower for free; it’s good to encourage the younger generation that way. Do you want anything else?”

The young boy bit his lips as an idea sprouted in his mind. He wanted to be a good Padawan and to make him new Master happy. As the Jedi had said: _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_. More information, necessary to help his Master, would be useful. “Do you have any book in your shop about big… tropical... plants and how to take care of them? Like, their needs. Or how to feed them? How to drain their roots if they have been in contact with bad soil? I have money to pay for it!”

“That’s very specific.” The Zabrak seemed frankly amused.

“Yes, I know.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“But I may have something that could help you. Let me look in the back shop.”

The wait seemed long for the boy whose legs were weakening and eyelids trembling like butterfly wings. Master Jinn was right; his body was still tired from their ordeal on Bandomeer and he would welcome a few more hour of sleep.

“Here! It’s a small book with lots of information clearly explained inside. Perfect for someone of your age. It’s five credits.”

“Perfect! Thank you very much, Sir.” Obi-Wan opened his small bag to give the coins to the vendor. He still had twenty credits, pocked money for a lot a people but enough for an Initiate- or a Padawan.

“That’s nothing, kid. You’ve brightened my day! Take care of your new companion!” The large smile barring the old Zabrak’s face was heart-warming. His tattoos seemed to move with his expression, creating new patterns. The young boy found it oddly beautiful.

“I will!”

The plant held tight against his chest, the Padawan walked back toward the new ship who should lead them to Coruscant. He was already planning what he would do once inside their cabin. He would start by putting up something to relieve his Master’s roots for the pain. It would be his first action as a responsible and good Padawan –something he would strive to be! He was sure Xanatos had never tried to do something like that.  
Then he would see if he could discover more things about his flower.

Obi-Wan blinked as his eyelids became heavier and heavier.

Or he would take a little nap. A very short nap. Surely he would be rested when his Master would come back from his shopping!

* * *

The cabin was quiet when Qui-Gon finally boarded in the spaceship. He was tired, the crowded station having emptied all his patience’s reserves. This little escapade had lasted more than an hour and a half. Far too long if you wanted his opinion.

He put down his bag on the floor and extended his lianas, trying to release his tension. _There._ The Jedi Master sighed. Yes, it was better. Then he turned around, taking the space in. Well, this wasn’t the worst ship he had ever travelled onto. There were two rooms: one made to live, with a sad couch and a table. One made to sleep with two twin beds. Obi-Wan must have come back from his exploration because his own satchel was on the floor beside his own.  
He frowned when he saw a large plastic bowl put on the floor beside the couch. It was filled with water. Qui-Gon bent forward, curious. There was a thin grey powder suspended in the liquid. One of his lianas dipped in it and the contact permitted him to identify it without a doubt. _Grounded Gravatch! Very common stone, vastly useful. It was a natural purifier. Employed in medicine as well as mechanic or gardening._

“Padawan?” He called gently. No response.

Had his apprentice made that? The Jedi Master walked toward the bedroom. There, smashed on the pillow and white cover was his ember-boy. His face was covered by a small opened book, his short hair popping up beside the back cover. He had fallen asleep on the sheets.  
One mystery was solved; the cover of the book was decorated by numerous exotic flowers and leaves. Qui-Gon could distingue the title once he came near: “A useful guide to take care of our tropical plants, for beginner”. Precious boy. He had searched a solution for his painful roots.

A strange tender feeling grew in the Jedi Master. He took the sheets from the second bed and put them on the sleeping child. Space could be cold and he needed his sleep.

As Qui-Gon slowly moved backwards he saw a planted violet flower placed on the floor beside the bed. A sparkle of humour flew through him.

Apparently, his apprentice had been busy without him.

He went back to the living room and sat on the couch, plunging his roots in the large bowl. _Hmmm._ Qui-Gon could already feel a sparkly sensation in them, a precious indication to know the draining process had begun.

The Jedi Master relaxed and let his breath slowed. He concentrated on the sensation of his healing body and entered in meditation. He inspired, letting the recycled air travelling in him, and expired.  
Everything was calm.  
Qui-Gon inspired again and when he let his breath out, he surrendered himself to the currents the Living-Force, laughing and flying around him.

* * *

Darkness had fallen on the ship as it travelled through space. His apprentice still asleep, the Jedi Master reached for his holocam. In better health, he now had a few responsibilities to assume. One of them was to contact his liaison, the last appointed member of the Jedi Council.

He pressed the central button with his liana, waiting for the projection to start.

“Master Windu?”

The small blue image of the human Jedi inclined his head toward him.

“Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon saluted him in turn. “I’m contacting you from our second ship. Its final destination is Coruscant; we should arrive at the Temple in sixteen hours.”

“Will you go to the Hall of Healings or will you make your report to the Council first?”

“We do not have injuries requiring an urgent trip to the Hall, but a medical check should be done later.”

“Good. You told me the last time we spoked that you had a lot of new data to give me? That things had changed?”

“I’ve informed you about the attack on Bandomeer. It wasn’t done by a stranger to the Order.” Qui-Gon had to take a deep breath to continue. “It was Xanatos.”

“Your former Padawan?”

“He wasn’t as missing as he led us to believe. He’s leading a company, the Offworld Corporation. Someone in the Temple should do researches on it. I think we’ll hear from them again.”

“Consider it done; I’ll send a Knight in the Archives. What happened on Bandomeer?”

“Xanatos mined the planet to collect Ionite and create weapons with it. The ecosystem was damaged, again. He kidnapped Initiate Kenobi and we found ourselves locked one of the planet’s mine, as he revealed having planted bombs in the Agricorps facilities. After some trials, we succeeded in opened the reinforced door blocking us and deactivated the bombs using the raw Ionite’s capacity of disturbing electronic devices. In that case, the bombs’ timers. But Xanatos had already fled when we tried to find him again.”

“I see.” Mace Windu sighed. This was not good for the Order.

“I also have another important new.”

“Pray tell?”

“I have taken a Padawan.” Mumbled the Nyaman.

“A Padawan? I thought you decided to- Well, that’s not important. Who did you choose?”

“I’ve chosen Initiate Kenobi.”

“He’s human, isn’t he?” His eyebrows were frown. Qui-Gon thought he should tell him to stop; the effect with his narked head was highly upsetting. He appreciated the man’s company but an unadorned face was still puzzling for him. He couldn’t remember a lot of things of his time before the Temple, but he could still saw his mother talking to him about the importance of leaves and fur. A narked plant or animal was often a dead one.

“Yes.”

“If you have difficulties to see yourself with a human apprentice, you shouldn’t take one. It will not be fair to him.”

“I’ve thought about it and I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes,” tried to explain Qui-Gon. “We already had a serious conversation about our species. So I wondered if you would agree, as a fellow human, to be present if need be?”

“You want me to be here to listen to him?”

“You’re going to be more Temple-bounded now that you’re a Councillor. Maybe, when we’ll be on Coruscant too, you could be someone he would turn to? I told you I could form Xanatos to become a successful Jedi. But I couldn’t help him to become a good and responsible adult human. Could you?”

“You’ll have to present him to me officially, then.”

“That’s a yes?”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. You can be sure I’ll keep an eye on the situation.”

“That’s all I’m asking from the moment. And know that I’ve rarely been so sure about anything.”

“We’re seeing you tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Qui-Gon.”

“Sleep well, Mace.”

The communication stopped and the Jedi Master sagged a bit. One thing done. Another to go. This time, he activated the message part of the device. As he had decided before, he would need all the help possible to raise his young Padawan. He typed slowly the message, choosing each word carefully. After all, it had been more than five years since he had last seen him.

_It’s Qui-Gon. I hope you’re doing well and that the Knight’s life isn’t too tiring. I know it had been some time, and that our last meeting wasn’t satisfactory –that’s the least I can say. But I’ve missed you and things are changing now. Maybe we could be better. There’s a new member in our lineage. I think you should meet him; he would have a lot of things to learn from you._

_I hope to hear from you soon. And as always, -despite what I could have said in anger and distress-, I’m proud of you, Feemor._


	4. Alana and the Jedi Mistress

That’s one thing to know that you’re a Padawan and another to look like it.

Obi-Wan was standing in his new rooms inside his Master’s quarters, with his new bed and the clothes the quartermaster had given him. He could put aside the white tunic of the Initiate and wear proudly the beige uniform of the Padawans. These gestures were almost sacred to him and the boy’s fingers trembled as he put the leather belt around his waist, securing his tabards.

There. Everything was at its place.

“That’s it Master! I’m coming!”

The young and very excited apprentice left his room to join the adults in the lounge.

“I think your Padawan’s ready to fly through the stars, Qui-Gon! What a lucky Master you are. Perhaps I will borrow him from time to time-”

“You can have your own, Tahl.”

Master Jinn had a visitor today; Master Tahl Uvain had come to help them furnishing his new bedroom and staid for tea. Obi-Wan remembered seeing her from time to time in the Archives when he was an Initiate. She has dark honey skin and bright striped eyes. The gold in them shone in the light and the green was comparable to the scales of a poisonous snake. She was sitting poised but still ready to strike. As a gentle predator comfortable in its lair.

“Thank you again for your help, Master Uvain.”

“Please, call me Tahl, Obi-Wan. And I was happy to lend you a hand. It’s not every day that Qui-Gon comes back to the Temple with a new apprentice in toes.”

“I’m happy to be your comic relief, as always.”

“How did you two meet?” Asked timidly the boy.

“We were partners during a mission a few months after my knighting.” Explained Tahl. “I didn’t know him personally at the time, just from sight –as he’s rather recognizable. He was already a Knight. It was supposed to be a rather peaceful mission but things went wrong –as often. So we were stuck on the planet for nearly six months. We had to work closely together to dismantle a spice ring which was corrupting the young government of a new Republic system. A very sportive and adventuring assignment!”

“She was very daring and hot-head, like a lot a youthful Knights.” Added Qui-Gon. “But she was also skilled and had a knack: Tahl could remark a lot of things in her environment, memorize these details and put in relief the ones essential for our mission. It was she who unmasked the brain behind the traffic.”

“And you, Obi-Wan, do you have some ideas about your apprenticeship? The lessons you want to follow, the Jedi Masters you would like to learn from, your future form in battle?”

“Well…” The Padawan felt his cheeks becoming hot under the Masters’ attentiveness. “I would like to take a few classes in languages. I find it important to talk to others directly as conversations are limited when translators are needed. I would also like to go further into geographical studies of the Galaxy.” This time, the boy was sure, his ears were burning red. “I wanted to learn Ataru with Master Jinn and I hope it’ll be possible now that I’m his Padawan-”

“You had remarked him before?” Interrupted Tahl.

“Yes, I had seen Master Jinn in the dojo when he was practicing against other Knights.” Obi-Wan looked at his Master but the Nyaman wasn’t outwardly reacting to his statement. Maybe he could continue then. He concentrated on Master Uvain’s presence. “He seemed to be flying, saber in hand. His stature should have been a disadvantage but it wasn’t. He was holding his lightsaber with no hands; he was too big in theory to excel in this form; still he was more graceful and lethal than anyone in this room. I looked at him and thought: I’ll never saw anyone like him again. He was barely touching the floor.”

Embarrassment rushed into him; he shouldn’t have said that. “But otherwise, I’d like to learn more about fauna and flora. I’ve heard Master Thout taught classes on the subject.”

“Is this the reason why this flower appeared near you on the ship?” Asked gently Master Jinn, probably feeling his need to change the theme of the discussion.

“It’s rather the opposite. This flower intrigued me and the book I’ve bought at the spatial station deepened this interest. Flora isn’t really included in our studies during our time as Initiates. So I thought it could be an occasion..?” Explained the boy. “I can bring it to you if you want to see it. It’s _special._ ”   
It was true that he wanted to hear the Masters’ opinion on the plant. But it was also a suitable occasion to regain his bearing!

Master Uvain laughed at his reaction. “If it’s special I want to see it too!”

The Nyaman gave his permission with a gesture of his lianas and Obi-Wan seek refuge in his bedroom.  
Maybe Bant tolerated his reflections on Master Jinn’s fighting technics but it wasn’t necessarily the case of others. Stars! Maybe he had embarrassed Qui-Gon before his old friend!  
He would never forgive himself if it was the case!

* * *

“He’s a passionate boy, this one.” Commented Tahl, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Yes. But he’s passionate about Order. I’ve known him only for a week and still, I know he’s eager to please.” Added Qui-Gon softly.

“Maybe it’s your chance to start anew.”

A hot emotion stirred inside of him. His old friend had a knack to put words on his feelings, too. And it was true that when he saw the ember boy he felt things, some of them who had seemed to disappear after Xanatos’ betrayed. The curiosity and desire to help skills to bloom. A wish for companionship.

A gentle kind of hope.

“I wish you some happy and fulfilling years with this boy, Qui-Gon.”

“Thank you Tahl. You know how much your opinion is important to me.”

The Noorian Jedi smiled at him and a meaningful silence grew between them.

“Here she is!” His young Padawan was returning from his bedroom. He seemed to have found his confidence again. _Good boy_. In his arms rested the plant Qui-Gon had seen in the ship. “Meet Alana the flower!”

_Alana? Did his apprentice name his flower?_  
Even Tahl seemed impressed.

“Let me see her-” His friend stretched out her arms to grab the red glazed terracotta pot. “It’s pretty. And original. I’ve never seen petals so thin…”

“It’s not an ordinary plant! “ The boy seemed anxious to prove them the valour of his new acquisition. “Poke at her in the Force!”

Tahl met his gaze, eyebrows properly up. They were really intrigued now.  
Qui-Gon saw her concentrated and her face becoming slack with surprise. “It reacted! This plant reacts to the Force!”

“Let me try, too.” The Nyaman Master let his senses expanded and he manipulated his presence to brush the flower with his mind. And to his astonishment, he felt something coming from it. A sense of warmth and comfort –his apprentice had touched it mentally often since he found the plant and it liked him. A vague curiosity –it sensed the presence of unknown individuals. The flower was trilling in the Force, saluting him, expressing its love for the stars, the good earth in which its roots grew in, the pure water it received.

It was a very simple conscience, happy and singing.

Retracting in himself, Qui-Gon offered his conclusions. “It’s slightly Force-sensitive and has a low form of sentience.”

“Where did you find something like that?” Asked Tahl, filled with enthusiasm.

“In a shop at the spatial station. A Zabrak gave her to me when he saw I was interested. He seemed to be very knowledgeable!”

“Well, that was kind of him. I hope you’ve expressed your gratefulness to him.” Added the Nyaman.

“Yes, Master. I’d not bring dishonour to you!” That… was not why he had told this. Apparently, his apprentice was taking everything he said to heart. He should be even more mindful of his words from this day forward.

“It could be a very useful training tool too.” Added Tahl.

Yes, Qui-Gon already had some ideas. This flower will be an occasion to train the fire-boy to manipulate the Force on daily basis, to stay attentive to a being and its need, to understand the subtlety of the information one can gain listening to the Force…

It was a fortunate acquisition.   
Just for training of course. _He certainly didn’t enjoy, himself, the possibility to interact with this little conscious flower and to hear it singing in his mind-_

“And why did you call her Alana?” Tahl inquired.

“I find difficult to call this flower ‘it’ when I can sense her presence, joy and life-force. So she quickly became ‘her’. And it’s kind of rude not to name her if I recognize that she’s cognizant. The thing is –I don’t want to be a rude person.” His ember-boy seemed so serious. It was endearing. “So I chose Alana. She seems to like it.”

His friend’s cheeks were pinker than usual and her eyes were watering. Qui-Gon wished he could sigh without his Padawan misinterpreting his gesture. Tahl was restraining herself not to laugh; he was sure he would hear about this for quite a long time. _His fire-boy, adopting a flower and naming her because he didn’t want to be rude. By the greatest foliage, his life was going to become surprising with this child by his side._

The Noorian Jedi rose from the couch. “I really appreciated this afternoon with you, but I have to go back to the Archives to finish my project. Thank you again for inviting me and welcome to you, young Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you for your help Master Uvain.” Answered the boy, bowing his head before the Master just as the protocol rules recommended. _He would have to help him to be less serious outside the missions. As a Jedi, he liked to see a bit of mischief._ “I was really happy to meet you!” His smile was blinding this time, less constrained by convention.

Then Tahl turned toward him, her beautiful eyes gleaming under the low light of the end of the day. “As always, Qui-Gon, it was a pleasure.”

The Nyaman stared at her back as she left his quarters, feeling as she was taking a part of him with her wherever she went. He took a few seconds to centre himself in the moment and looked at his apprentice.

“There’s still something to do to make you a real Padawan.”

“Is there a trial? A mission? A demonstration of skill?” The boy was clearly becoming more and more excited as he tried to guess what his Master meant.

“Not at all! I was talking about the Padawan cut.” Qui-Gon laughed, his lianas trembling and curling on themselves. “But it’s true that’s a kind of ordeal.”

“Why?” His ember-boy was staring at him with wide open-eyes. “It’s so cool to have a Padawan braid! So meaningful and traditional.”

“Because long hair is preferable and nicer in my opinion. It’s more natural –helping you to keep your warmth when it’s cold! And a sign of good health.”

“Plants have a lot of leaves when the soil is good and the light touches them enough,.” Obi-Wan said matter-of-factly. “And they’re generally dead when they’re narked.”

“Exactly!”

“Except when it’s winter. Then it’s just bulbs and trees accumulating and stocking resources for the time when they’ll be ready to grow and bloom. Like a Jedi apprentice.”

“I suppose you could see it that way.” _Stars, the child clearly has an active imagination!_

“Then I’ll be your seedling!”

“You’re not a plant Obi-Wan, you’re a human child. Sit on the chair, I’m going to look for the scissor. It should be enough to cut your hair. Be ready to lose your pelt! You’re going to look like a narked pup afterwards.”

“Master!”

* * *

Obi-Wan looked at his reflection in the mirror. He could see a Padawan looking back at him. Clothed in beige robe and pants, with tabards and a leather belt, as was the tradition. His hair was cut short and a little braid could be seen just under his right ear –for the moment only the end was really visible, tied with a green tie.

He was Obi-Wan, apprentice to Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, walking in his steps to live in the Force and protect the Republic.

He smiled, dimples appearing near his chin.

He couldn’t wait for this new part of his life to begin.


	5. Memories Set In Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're in quarantine! France is in a sad state at the moment. My internship in Orléans was stopped due to the epidemy and I had to come back to Paris. At least I have a garden so I can breath out a little outside. And it gives me a lot more time to read and write!  
> Enjoy this chapter wherever you are: alone in quarantine, working or at home with your family! Good luck! <3

The first language Obi-Wan had chosen to learn was Twi’leki. It wasn’t the most difficult to begin with. There was nothing to do for the physical part of the dialect; without lekku it was impossible to express the subtlety of this silent form of communication relying on gestures. But the oral part of the Twi’leki was teachable, as were its pictograms. Their professor –a Twi’lek Knight, was bright and made his lessons interesting by evoking cultural facts and inviting Initiates or Padawans from his species to talk to the students.

It was almost two in the afternoon when the lesson ended. Obi-Wan put away his datapad and decided to head toward the gardens; his Master often went at the Room of a Thousand Fountains at this time of the day when the light from the star was the most pleasant –unless he has previous engagements, of course.

The corridors were crowd for once, departing Knights with their bags on their back rubbing shoulders with enthusiastic Initiates or old Masters with white hairs and kind smiles.  
Obi-Wan felt an agreeable heat growing in his belly; this was everything he loved about the Temple.

The atmosphere changed as he entered the gigantic greenhouse. Maybe his brain was playing a trick on him but the air seemed purer. Big trees trying to touch the glass roof created shadows in which mosses and ferns could grow. The green grass occupied most of the floor–something that could not be seen anywhere else on Coruscant. This place was quiet but full of life, ideal for meditation, the sound of the multiples cascades and fountains appeasing even the most troubled heart.

There, on a patch of grass unshaded by the most massive plants stood his Master. He was bowing a bit backwards, leaning tall toward the Star. His lianas were relaxed, occupying more place than usual.   
He seemed to be blooming under the natural light.

Obi-Wan had seen this scene almost a dozen of time since the Nyaman had chosen him as his apprentice, but he was still impressed and the spectacle filled him with peace.

“Do you want to join me?” His Master’s sudden question almost made him jump out of his skin.

“Yes, please.”

The young boy laid down on the grass, appreciating its soft touch on his wrists’ bared skin. He closed his eyes.

“Try to meditate about your day, the new knowledge you acquired and the Star heating your skin. Feel it chases away your fears, your doubts. Feel it chases away the darkness.”

Under the rays of Coruscant I, the world had never seemed safer.

* * *

Today was a special day because Obi-Wan was finally thirteen.

Birthdays weren’t typically a big occasion in the Temple. Since they were younglings the Initiates were told it could be a day of meditation on one’s life and a time to think about our objectives for the coming year.

So Obi-Wan was very glad when Garen and Bant found the time to spend their afternoon with him; Siri hadn’t been able to come as she had been sent on a mission with her Master. They hid in darker and less-known corners of the Temple like kids – _which they weren’t of course because they weren’t babies._ Afterwards, the three of them played in the deserted Lake level for nearly three hours, enjoying this time in each other’s company.   
As always, Bant beat them all during the swimming context and the splashing game which followed. She was just far more skilled than them in her native environment. Obi-Wan took the time to look at her, spinning and turning fast on herself in the water. Her pink skin seemed to be glittering. His heart constricted and he felt an immeasurable love for his closest and oldest friend.

“So, how is your apprenticeship coming, Obi-Wan? Is Qui-Gon Jinn a good Master?” Asked Garen as he tried to duck Bant’s head under the water.

“He’s even better than I have thought. He’s interesting, as exigent as encouraging. I wouldn’t want any other Master.” He concluded.

“I always thought that a Master from a different species would be more challenging and enthralling for you.” Added Bant matter-of-factly. Having come at the top of her fight with Garen, she smiled as she made him drink a large mouthful of water.

“Bant, stop! I’m not sure it’s hygienic! How many amphibians bathed here? And look, there are reeds at your left! This water shouldn’t be drunk!” Ranted the human, looking like a drown womp rat.

“What a nerfheader…” Bant rolled her eyes. Then she stared at him, her small smile complimented by her wide glowing eyes. “I’m glad you’re back with us, Obi-Wan. You had so much faith in the future; I’m glad it’s believing in you now.”

“Me too Bant. Me too.”

“I think Obi-Wan’s not been duck under yet. It’s his turn, clearly. Think of it as my welcome-back-home-and-birthday gift!”

His high-pitched protestations echoed in the large and well appreciated Lake level, blend with his friends’ laughers.

* * *

The real surprise finally occurred when Obi-Wan came back to his quarters, hair still a bit wet. His Master was standing near the window, watering his potted plants –all but Alana, who was still his responsibility and sat on the window’s edge in his bedroom.

“Just on time. I was waiting for you, my apprentice.”

“Can I do anything for you, Master Qui-Gon?” Asked Obi-Wan.

The Nyaman Jedi put the watering can on the floor and made a gesture to invite him to come by his side. When the Padawan reached for him, his Master took something hanging from his belt and held it out for him.   
“You can accept my gift for your birthday, my Padawan. You’re thirteen –that’s almost a twelfth of my life!”

It was… strange. Obi-Wan hadn’t thought Master Qui-Gon was so old. _But the Nyamans were indeed reputed to be rather long-lived._  
The more important thing at the moment was the item cradled in his hand. Resting in his palm was a small tissue-wrapped gift.

“You didn’t have to give me something, Master!” Somehow, this attention touched him particularly. Maybe because it was unexpected. Maybe because the Jedi genially seemed pleased to give this to him. His lianas were all coiled up.

He carefully opened the cloth, sensing a cold flat surface under his digits. To say that he was surprised would be a euphemism.

He was now the proud owner of a light grey pebble.

“Is this a river stone…?” Obi-Wan knew he mustn’t be hiding his surprise very well and felt terribly ungrateful.

“Yes, it is.” His Master was still exhaling in the Force a sensation of proudness, joy and something hot and comfortable Obi-Wan couldn’t find words to define. “Sometimes trees grow on top of beds of rocks. It’s always impressive to see their roots intertwined with the stones. They are often stronger and more resistant than their brothers living in healthy soil. The Jedi’s path is a difficult one, full of rocks and traps but you can thrive on it, find strength in adversity. I hope this pebble will remind you of this.” Then he stretched out one of his lianas and put it on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. The boy leaned in the touch, getting comfort out of it.

“This particular stone was with me for a while; I found it on my home planet when I was little. It came from one of the rivers of pure water slithering down the hilly landscape. There the dirt was dark, full of nutrients to feed the tall and mighty trees as well as numerous ephemeral flowers. I think it should continue to travel by your side.”

This time, Obi-Wan looked at the pebble differently. This was a gift from his Master, a memento from this home-planet. Suddenly he had the impression to hold a treasure that was worth more than gold in his palm.

He couldn’t have dreamt of a better gift for his birthday.

* * *

This was their first mission since Obi-Wan became Master Jinn’s apprentice and everything went bad. The situation on Phindar was worse than they had thought. The Syndicate had taken control over the planet and since that moment people had started to disappear. They reappeared sometimes –but no one could say they were the same.

Now the Padawan had lost his Master. Obi-Wan felt terribly alone and powerless as manacles dug into his unprotected wrists. The young Jedi were trained in diplomacy, in meditation or saber fighting since their earliest days. The apprentice still remembered the open-hand kata he did with the Crèche Master when he was six and eager to prove himself. Younglings were taught honour, bravery and cleverness.

But nobody taught them what to do when you were captured by the enemy.

Obi-Wan was thirteen. And Obi-Wan was scared.

His knees felt weak as he walked side by side with his captors in a long and dirty corridor. They were taller and their steps were wider than his, so he had to speed up not to fall on the floor. His heart was beating so fast it almost hurt and he had difficulties to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. But if he cried, they might take it as a demonstration of weakness. The Syndicate’s members kept cat-calling him, joking about how the Force wasn’t saving him right now, how they weren’t scared of little Jedi like him.

If he cried, they might think he wasn’t Jedi enough. They might kill him now.

“You’ll end just like the others. You may think yourself superior but you’re only flesh, memories and blood. And now you’re going to lose one of these.” The voice of the native was grating and his breath was sour when it hit his face.

“Do you want to know what will happen to you? Hey, Harkin, push the former guard forwards. Let us see him!”

Obi-Wan almost tripped when he was dragged on the left, biting his tongue when the manacles slashed his skin. One of his captors hauled a haggard-looking male Phindian toward them. His skin seemed to have lost a bit of its colour and his features painted a strange expression.

“Welcome, my friend! How are you today?” Asked the leader of the group with a sweet and malicious tone.

“T-t-tired.” Answered the humanoid. He was standing awkwardly on his legs, like a new-born.

“Tell our new companion who you are!”

“I-I’m… I mean…” Obi-Wan was slowly understanding the emotion this Phindian broadcasted. He was completely lost. “You-you said I was your friend? So, that what am I?”

“Of course, we’re friends!” The other natives standing in the long corridor started to laugh. It was a terrible sound, and Obi-Wan just wished he could cover his ears to forget he was even here. “And do you know what friends do for each other? If you’re happy to be my friend, you should kneel before me. Why are you hesitating? Do it!”

The gaze of the Phindian was hopeless and far away when he finally went on his knees. Immediately other members of the Syndicate started to mess with him, pushing his torso toward the ground and kicking him in his stomach. He stayed mostly motionless under the hits, limp as a puppet.

The male holding his manacles started to whispers things in his ears again, in a parody of privacy. “This one was the favourite guard of the Queen. He was brave, the paragon of virtue. He tried to die for her but we managed to capture him alive. Look at him now, simpering, having lost all his memories. He’s destroyed. The next one is you, little Jedi. It’s your turn!”

Obi-Wan had difficulties to concentrate on his words as he couldn’t stop staring at the poor male lying on the floor. The others continued to humiliate him, jubilant in the face of his powerlessness and his incomprehension of the situation. They sneered and spluttered, their wide-eyes devouring each trace of weakness in him.

The young Padawan had never seen anything as shocking and grotesque of all his life.

Then he was driven through an open door, leading to a small grey room. His captors attached him to a metallic chair and left him alone with the cold dark machine. “Have nice dreams, little Jedi. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be the one kneeling at my feet!”

Obi-Wan was so terrified he could barely think. The engine creaked when he began to move and settled over his head. He tried to free himself without result until his hands felt a hard object in his pocket.

 _Oh_.

He had forgotten that he had taken his river stone with him.

It was the only source of comfort he had with him in this terrifying moment. So he hung onto it as the memory whip began. He concentrated on his sense of touch –the pebble seemed hot against his chilled skin. Just as with Alana his flower, he opened his mind to the stone. Maybe he could find some of his Master’s Force residue on it. This would reassure him. He wouldn’t be so alone.

As his mind expended the pebble answered him. Obi-Wan didn’t feel the searing pain resulting from the machine’s actions. He stopped feeling desperate.

Instead, he found himself scenting the odour of rich soil and hearing the gurgling of the water. When he opened his eyes, unafraid, all he saw was the towering red trees and the colourful flowers blooming on the floor.

He breathed out.

He was safe.

* * *

Afterwards, they switched off the engine and dragged him into a cell. Obi-Wan let his cheek in contact with the cold walls.

He almost cried when he realized he still remembered being a Jedi.


	6. The Peaceful Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope your quarantine is still going well. Things are pretty quiet when I am now, nobody's in the street and people have stopped to utterly empty the shops; so we were able to buy some food this week.  
> I'm reading and writing so much Star Wars things now that I have some time! I hope you take moments for yourself too.  
> Enjoy this chapter!  
> Tea

After the mission on Phindar, Qui-Gon felt the need to have his ember-boy closer to him. It should have been a first assignment adapted to a young Padawan. Instead, they had found themselves in the middle of a coup with the Syndicate gaining more and more power over the planet.

Qui-Gon had let his young and precious apprentice out of his field of vision and the insurgents had taken advantage of it.  
They had tied him up, mocked him and tried to erase everything that made his identity, to destroy his memories. When he had understood what was happening to his fire-child… The Jedi Master admitted that he panicked. What would he have done if he had found his boy with his mind erased? Their relation was still so fresh yet it was already such an important part of his life.

He had almost lost him. So early.  
During their first official mission together.

How could he not feel unbalanced?

His autumn-hair boy was taking the situation rather well. He seemed to appreciate their new physical proximity. He chose now naturally to sit by his side in the morning when he took his breakfast, the Nyaman meditating or preparing tea in the meantime. The Padawan also leaned into his touch, exuding joyful and calm waves into the Force. So he laid his lianas more often on his student’s shoulder and tugged gently on his very small braid. Every day his youth surprised him. _Had he been this little one day?_

A morning, nearly five days after the end of the mission, his ember-boy put his flat-bread on the table and turned toward him, a serious expression on his sleepy face. “I want to thank you again for your gift –the force stone.”

_Force stone?_

His apprentice must have sensed his confusion because he continued to precise his idea. “The river stone you offered me for my birthday. When I was in the hand of the Syndicate –” His voice quivered and the child took a second to regain control over it. “When I was in their hands, in the room with the mind-wiping machine, I felt it against my leg. I took it. The pebble dragged me away from the cell to your home-planet, in mind at least.” His smile was sad and grateful at the same time when he finished his explanation. “It saved me. I’m still myself thanks to it.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t find words to explain the fragile and stormy emotions roaring within him. So he settled on moving closer to his boy, sitting against his left hip and enlacing him with his lianas. The small body trembled a bit before melting in the embrace. “… Those gigantic trees with red bark, they’re majestic and beautiful, Master. I understand why you talk about your planet with such lovely words.”

“One day I’ll take you there, Obi-Wan. It’s a promise.”

* * *

_Hello Qui-Gon,_

_This is a short message to inform you that I’ve just finished my last mission in the Middle Rim. It was pretty standard. I received your holo and I’ll admit it: I’m surprised to hear that you have given me another Brother-Padawan. But the past is behind us and I’ll be happy to see you two when I’ve settled again in the Temple._

_Best wishes,_

_Feemor  
_

* * *

His day was nothing short of explosive. Obi-Wan was working hard with Master Cin Drallig to improve his Shii-Cho form; his Master thought a very good mastery of this technic was fundamental before their Ataru training could begin.

He remembered the Nyaman’s words as he parried his instructor’s blade. “Shii-Cho was the first form of lightsaber combat to be created. It was born from a new need and the experimentation of the Jedi from yesteryear. They had to find ways to use their new weapons, the lightsabers replacing the metal swords. So they meditated on their mission as guardians of the peace and of the Republic. The resulting form is made of simple pure moves and is focusing on disarming the adversary rather than maiming him. This is one of the reasons why you should be proficient in this technic: Ataru is a much more aggressive style. And the Jedi’s nature is not to be overly belligerent.”

Obi-Wan parried another heavy blow. He felt sweat gathering on his forehead and falling on his eyelashes.  
“That’s good, Padawan Kenobi. Try a few more time the _Sun Djem_ mark of contact, the disarming slash. You could be even more efficient if you relax your wrist.”

The apprentice breathed out, wiped his forehead with his sleeve and gripped again his lightsaber’s hilt. His legs were tensed and hurt from the intense training. He widened his stance and concentrated to land a blow on his instructor’s wrist. He managed to touch lightly the fingers of the taller man, the blade power having been adjusted to cause only a slight burn.

“That’s it! One more time! Don’t forget to bend your knees a little more.”

Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber vertically to block Master Cin Drallig’s attack and tried to touch his weapon’s hilt. He missed and had difficulties to parry the next blow from his instructor. The Padawan grimaced when his forearm started to sting; he was sure this burn would hurt during at least three days.  
He concentrated to make abstraction of his injury and succeeded partially –enough to strike his opponent’s wrist, firmly this time.

It was true that relaxing his arms and his hand helped.

“Good! I think we can call it a day. Next session is in a week. Take the time to stretch your muscles tonight to avoid body aches.”

“Yes, Master Drallig. Goodbye!” Obi-Wan was sure his voice sounded hoarse as his throat was burning, deprived of water for too long.

_How he longed for his quarters right now._

The Padawan gathered his things and headed toward the living area. He was sure that he must stink of cooling sweat but nobody made remarks as he walked down the long corridor. After a ten minutes’ walk, he found himself standing in from of his quarter’s door. He opened it wide, talking to his Master as he entered the living-room.

“Hi Master, I’ve finished my session with Battlemaster Cin Drallig! It was good, I think. But I gained a new burn on my arm.” Obi-Wan explained, enthusiastic, as he bent to remove his boots.

“That’s not a problem; I have a balm for this in the bathroom.” Answered the Nyaman with an amused voice.

Obi-Wan raised his head and discovered that his Master wasn’t sitting alone at the table. He was facing a furred mammalian who was looking at him with bright and intelligent eyes.

“Is this him?” Asked the stranger.

Master Qui-Gon encouraged him to step forwards with his lianas and answered: “Obi-Wan, meet Knight Feemor Att’Kla. Feemor, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, your new Padawan-Brother.”

“Please, sit with us, Obi-Wan. I’m happy to finally get to know you. I didn’t think I would ever have another sibling.” The Padawan sat beside his Master, his gaze exploring the other male’s appearance.

Feemor was humanoid, his body covered with a dense grey and pale brown fur. He was wearing a customised version of the Jedi uniform, with a sleeveless tunic and floral patterns sew in the thick collar. His ears were pointed and moved a lot –maybe they followed the course of his thoughts. His eyes were one of his most striking features, the orange iris standing out beside the greyer hairs on his face. Such colour could have been intimidating or repulsive on another being but it could only be described as warm on him. Obi-Wan met his gaze and thought of the honey his Crèche Master gave them sometimes in the evening in secret, during winter. They always watched it melt in their hot bowl of infusion and shivered as they sat very close to each other, their cup warming their hands. Then the Wookie Jedi would start to tell a tale and every member of the clan would be able to add an element, to shift the course of the story.

Obi-Wan knew he should be able to distance himself from these memories but found that he couldn’t. That time of his life inside the Initiate clan has ended. He was happy to rise up to the challenge of being a Padawan –and he felt safe by his Master side.  
But he loved these memories, these people, and couldn’t totally let them go.  
Especially since he had discovered that his life story could be stolen, erased to make him compliant.

A Jedi shouldn’t have too many possessions, shouldn’t be attached. But Obi-Wan thought that these, his precious memories –maybe he could keep and cherish them.

The Padawan stroke his short hair with his right hand –a habitude he had taken since Master Qui-Gon had cut his mane. He usually liked the feeling of the fuzz under his digits. But the action made him blushed this time when he realised how greasy it was. He had forgotten that he had just left a training session with the Battlemaster –that he was sweaty, dirty and probably smelly.

He sincerely hoped Knight Feemor’s snout wasn’t more sensitive than the human noses; or he would make a bad first impression, indeed.

“I can go take a shower if you want it.” Suggested weakly the young boy.

The Caamasi Jedi guffawed loudly in response. “No, there’s no problem. It’s me who’s intruding –and I know from experience Qui-Gon isn’t sensitive at all to sweaty younglings, as he doesn’t have a sense of smell. I once stood near him during a week smelling like a dead Womp rat –we had to hide in sewers to join a besieged city. The royal family was scandalised when they saw me and refused to hear us until I was cleaned at a minimal level. Qui-Gon was offended in turn, as he couldn’t see any real problem. In retrospect, it was a funny mission.”

Obi-Wan cracked a smile; maybe he would go along with the Jedi Knight.  
_And he wanted so much for this encounter to go well. This former Padawan of his Master and himself, they could become close!  
He couldn’t expect to create anything with Xanatos, but nothing was lost yet with Feemor._

“So, how did you two met? When did Qui-Gon choose you, Obi-Wan?”

That was not the easy first question the Padawan had hoped for. They hadn’t even had the chance to get acquainted before the apprentice had to reveal he was a wash-out. What if the Knight didn’t want to get to know him better after that?  
Obi-Wan felt cheated. Everything was already lost. He lowered his gaze and stared at his knees as he answered.

“I was sent on Bandomeer to be part of the AgriCorps when we met. Master Jinn had an assignment on the planet and we fought together against a common enemy. After the danger passed he proposed to take me as his Padawan.”

Knight Feemor seemed slightly alarmed by his words, staring insistently at Master Qui-Gon. His eyes were opened wider than before and his snout was wrinkled.

“You were involved in an armed conflict so young? They normally keep them for the Senior Padawan. We can’t risk our youths so early; you’re the future of the Order, and we have responsibilities towards all of you. I hope Qui-Gon took good care of you after this.”

Obi-Wan didn’t really know how to answer to that remark. Was he going to be in trouble for helping the Jedi Master on Bandomeer? “Master Jinn healed my injuries once we got back on the ship.” Hoping to salvage the situation, he added: “And he spent time at the Space Station to buy human food for me!” There, that was all he could do. Now the apprentice could only hope the Knight wouldn’t try to separate him from his Master.

“That was the least he could do; you don’t subsist on sunlight and freshwater yet, do you? And now that Qui-Gon can keep an eye on you, you won’t end up in that kind of plight until you’re of age, no?” Feemor made a strange face to the Nyaman, coupled with a heavy gaze and frowned eyebrows. Obi-Wan had the ludicrous idea that he was reproaching something to the Jedi Master.

“It was a good meal…” He commented in a hesitant voice. Realising that his argument wasn’t lightening the atmosphere he raised his eyes again on the Knight and changed the subject. He was still terribly curious about the other Jedi… “And what do you do mostly as a Knight, Mister Att’Kla?”

“Please, call me Feemor, Obi-Wan! You don’t have to be so formal with me. I’m a Jedi consular and I mostly do diplomatic missions. Settling agreements between a government and a company, negotiating commercial or travelling rules, finding compromises to avoid an escalation of violence… On the more dangerous missions, I may have to stop a conflict on a planet, in a system or establish a cease-fire.”

The young apprentice had already forgotten all about his embarrassment and his fears in the face of this fascinating discussion. “And do you like it? Don’t you feel sometimes constricted by the etiquette and the decorum needed in diplomacy?”

“No, most of the time. I read and appreciate etiquette as a coded language, a game of chess that I must know perfectly and in which I must understand all the possible combinations to win. It’s a fascinating dance. Lots of things can become possible if you know the polite phrases of native language, if you make researches on their culture.  
Of course, I’m sometimes alarmed by the distance between the people’s suffering and the governing elite. Some situations I’ve encountered were hard to live with. In that case, I must be slyer and more intelligent than them to find a more decent solution.” Knight Feemor had a soft voice, very pleasant to hear. All his attention seemed focused on the apprentice and the boy bathed in his encouraging gaze. “I’m a Caamasi, more comfortable in a time of peace. Searching a pacific outcome for every conflict I encounter brings me a lot of satisfaction.”

“I’ve read something once, about memories and Caamasi?”

“Ah, the memnii? It’s one of the reasons we’re naturally peace-inclined and empathic. Violent experiences or jolting events are etched on our memories, like on a hard drive. They don’t fade away, never. We remember the temperature, the light or heavy atmosphere of the day, the odours aggressing our snouts and the sounds invading our ears. Everything to a degree of perfection rarely attained. So we avoid as much as possible these situations. I’ll use my lightsaber if I’ve exhausted every other possibility to prevent the battle, but it will always remain my last choice.”

“This is why a lot of Jedi would have things to learn from Feemor -I included.” Master Jinn’s voice was tender as he spoke of his former Padawan. “Some people might say otherwise but it takes a lot of courage to fight without weapons, to plant seeds of peace and encourage them to grow using words and compromises.” The Caamasi’s eyes went a bit misty and Obi-Wan could feel heavy emotions circulating between them in the Force. Apologies, affection and forgiveness. Old hurts were healing, slowly. “I hope you’ll have the chance to receive some of his wisdom, my young apprentice.”

“Do you have others occupations, too? I know Master Jinn likes gardening during his free time.” _And it seemed Xanatos enjoys causing trouble._

“I’m afraid Qui-Gon never converted me into a plant lover. But I enjoy learning languages as a pastime-“

“Do you know Twi’leki?” The Padawan inquired, talking quickly with excitement. “I’m learning it in classes!”

“Yes, I know how to speak it. It’s a colourful language! One of the first I studied too.”

“How many planet vernaculars do you speak?”

“Nearly fifteen. Maybe sixteen if I become more proficient in Shyriiwook –one of the Wookie dialect. My professor’s sick for the moment.”

Obi-Wan felt speechless. How could one memorize so many languages? So many different vocabularies, grammar and conjugation rules? Perhaps, the Knight could help him to become better. This may be an idea to spend some time with him!

“Would you consider giving me Twi’leki lessons, when you’re Temple-based?” He timidly asked.

“Of course! It would be a joy to pass the time in your company! And I might take this occasion to raise your awareness of my other hobby –which is art! Jedi may not have many possessions, but there’s nothing in the Code against appreciating sentient being’s creations.” Knight Feemor winked at him and Obi-Wan couldn’t stop a smile from blooming on his face. He definitely liked the sensitive and humorous Jedi. “I saw an amazing tapestry during my last mission. It was weaved with the hair of the natives, representing the story of a clan. Each member gave all their hair during their Day of Maturity –and they had never been cut since their birth! Then they were used to depict the major events happening to the family.”

“It must have been remarkable –if a little disturbing.” Commented Master Jinn.

The Padawan’s stomach chose that moment to grumble. Feemor looked at him, horrified. “Poor boy, I’m talking and talking without thinking you just came back from a training session –with Master Drallig furthermore! You must be famished! Well, we should eat together. Do you like insects? I must still have some dry ones in my cupboard. I could bring them here.”

 _Why did everyone ask him that question?_ “No, I prefer more palatable meals.”

“I knew Xanatos had a strange taste. Well, I always have zucchinis and meat otherwise. I would even cook them if you want it!”

Obi-Wan turned to look at his Master. The Nyaman was exuding calm and happiness in the Force; he had never seemed so content.

“I will set the table then!”

* * *

_Hi Feemor!_

_You asked me to take the time to contact you during our mission. We’re resting in a bed, finally, so I’m using this opportunity to record a message. Master Qui-Gon and I are on Alderaan to supervise a summit between the Core worlds. It’s much quieter than I’m used to: there’s no pirate, stray blaster shots or hidden enemy –that is if you don’t count the Duchess Alba Antilles. She keeps trying to make me eat, each time we see each other. And she’s a terrible cook! I wouldn’t give her cakes to Bruck and he’s almost my archenemy! Qui-Gon’s saying she has taken a shine on me. I think the situation amuses him greatly._

_Standing up for so long in uniform is actually really uncomfortable; thankfully Master Qui-Gon had brought a cataplasm and used it on my bleeding feet. Don’t let anyone tell you that new boots are comfortable!_

_I’m using my spare time at night to work on my Twi’leki. “Chini, wachamio! Nerra!” See, I’ll be even better when we’ll see each other. Maybe by this time, you’ll be able to teach me two or three words of Shyriiwook._

_Master Qui-Gon’s taking good care of me. He has chosen an hour and names it “The Padawan’s call to sleep” to be sure I’ll have enough energy in the morning. This may have happened because he found me at an advanced hour of the night reading my plant book. He has also discovered that I like wheat-based pasta and is enthusiastic before all the forms they can take. I think he may have bought some mimicking flowers. I’ll have to explain to him that various shapes don’t mean various tastes –or I’ll eat wheat pasta until the end of my apprenticeship._

_Take care of Alana! I’m counting on you! She was so sad when I had to go. I think it will do her good to meet and spend time with other people. Tahl told me she will visit her too._

_We’ll return on Coruscant in two weeks if everything keeps going fine –and if we’re not attacked by pirates on our way back._

_See you soon,_

_Obi-Wan_

Feemor smiled as he read the message on his datapad; his new Padawan-brother was definitely too adorable. And Qui-Gon seemed to take his role seriously, trying to be better for the boy.

The Knight remembered the hurtful words spoken when Xanatos’ betray left the Jedi Master gutted, and the happy time they shared, all three of them, in their quarters a few weeks ago.

Maybe there was still hope of redemption for the old Jedi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Twi'Leki**  
>  _Chini, wachamio! Nerra!_ : "Come on! Brother!"


	7. In Our Natural State

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Well, that was a productive week! This chapter is one of my favourites so far; I had a lot of fun when I was writing it. It's longer than usual too.  
> I'm reading "Alien Archives" when I have free time and I really recommend you this Star Wars Encyclopedia book. The drawings' amazing and it's great to discover some of the less-known species.  
> Enjoy!

It was true that the Jedi Council assigned missions to the active members of the Order depending on their strengths, their specialities and their species. Master Kit Fisto would have more chance to be sent to an aquatic world whereas humans would be used to reassure and gather information about xenophobic planets wanting to enter into the Republic.   
As Master Qui-Gon was a sentient plant coming from a tropical world, Obi-Wan often found himself stranded on hot and moistly planets.

This time, they had travelled to the Outer Rim via the Corellian Run to land on Rodia. Their arrival hadn’t been smooth as the ship lent by the Order hadn’t appreciated the humid atmosphere. One of the motors had quickly gone off the rails and they had crash-landed in a swamp. Not that they could have aimed for anything else –as there were only wetlands in their field of vision.

Obi-Wan would never trust again a ship let at their disposal by the Order.

The Padawan used his elbows to open the door, locked due to the poorly maintained metal. A wave of damp and clammy air rushed into his lungs. He grimaced, closed his eyes and tried to remember that they were doing this for a good reason.

“I’m going first, Padawan.” Told his Master somewhere to his left. “I have to be sure you’ll be able to touch the bottom of the bog.”

This thing seemed to be rather bottomless if you wanted his opinion. It was a lot of dark, muddy water –with more mud than liquid if he was to believe his eyes, dotted with sad grass patches and faraway silhouettes of trees.

“You seem distressed, my Padawan.”

“Distressed isn’t really the world, Master. I’m annoyed, I think. Irritated surely.”

“Why? I know this environment isn’t one you’re used to, but it’s healthier for you than the fumes and the pollution of many industrialised cities; Coruscant, to cite one.” Obi-Wan looked at the Nyaman and saw that he really seemed puzzled by his reaction. _This may be another of those cultural differences we encounter as a pair._ So the apprentice concentrated to put his feelings and his apprehension into words.

“I’m annoyed because this could have been avoided if the ship hadn’t been such a junk! We were lucky to crash into a swamp; on another mission, with a merciless land made of mountains or forests, someone could have died!” His emotions were running hot and Obi-Wan took the time to breathe in and out slowly, calming himself. He could feel the approving look of the Nyaman on him. He continued with a softer voice: “Masters told us since we’re kids that the Jedi’s life is a difficult one, but that the Order will watch other us. If they were serious then, this kind of accident shouldn’t happen. It’s a sad way for a Jedi to die –due to the one of our own’ carelessness.”

“That is absolutely true, my apprentice. We’ll make a report for the Council once the mission’s finished. Such acts of negligence should be investigated.” One of his lianas curved and touched his braid, who was growing longer every day. “You see, you’ll always be more convincing if you don’t let your emotions get the better of you. Your feelings are indicators; you shouldn’t ignore them as much as try to understand where they come from. They can help you to discover things about yourself and things about others.”

“There’s also another problem, Master,” added Obi-Wan, grimacing once again. “Due to the nature of our assignment.”

“Which is- ?”

“That we’re supposed to join the Senator into the capital city, to escort and guard him until the reform he’s leading on the southernmost part of the Correllian Run’s is voted. They’re never going to accept a muddy and smelly apprentice near him! My clothes are going to be ready to finish in the trash when we escaped from these swamps.”

“Well,” commented Master Qui-Gon, moving around in the dark mud, “I can see a solution to your problem. The bottom of the marsh is quite smooth; it seemed to be mostly made of clay and dirt. You won’t hurt your pink feet if you don’t wear boots. So you could strip, keep your clothes in your arms, out of the water, and walk naked in the swamp.”

“You want me to go through this wetland nude?!” Politeness had flown out of him due to his surprise.

“I don’t want anything, my Padawan. But it seemed to be the most astute solution.” Master Qui-Gon was speaking as if he was the most rational being of the universe and Obi-Wan wanted to pull out his hair, as this was contrary to all good sense.

“I just… can’t do that! That’s not done! Jedi don’t strip like that outside!”

“Obi-Wan.” _There, he was using his reasonable voice again_. “You know that I’m a Jedi Master, no?”

“Of course, Master Qui-Gon! I never contested your rank!”

“And when did you saw me wearing clothes?”

To be honest, Obi-Wan’s brain stopped to work with this declaration.   
He hadn’t seen it like this.

“If you want my opinion… Clothes are a useful device created by some species to say something about their place in society. Religious membership, royalty –their members all have specific attires. Even Jedi have a uniform to be recognized through all the galaxy. In an unfavourable environment clothes can also protect your fragile skin. But don’t forget those outfits are tools, which can be used during missions. They aren’t your true hide. We are indeed luminous beings, existing outside of our bodies -but your body is still your anchor. It’s yours to train, to nourish and to encourage to grow. So there could be nothing shameful in nudity.”

The Padawan took time to meditate on his Master’s words. He believed in the older Jedi’s wisdom; so maybe the idea he had beforehand was erroneous. Maybe nudity wasn’t outrageous.

Obi-Wan sight and began to open his tunic. It was true that he will appreciate the prospect of clean dry clothes when he will walk through all this mud.  
Qui-Gon turned his back to him, giving him some privacy as he undressed. The apprentice tied his clothes together and held them as high as he could. Then he jumped from the door and closed his eyes when he sank into the mire, the sludge reaching his bellybutton. _Ughh._

“That’s good, my Padawan. I’m taking that-,” explained his Master, enrolling three lianas around the bundle of fabric, “-to keep it from the harm’s way. We have to go forwards to reach the capital city; the small bubble you can see in the horizon? That’s it. The town is surrounded by an energy field. Let’s go!”

Obi-Wan started to walk beside him, slower than he would have preferred due to the mud sticking to his legs. The journey to their mission was going to be difficult. But he felt his spirit lift when he saw his clothes swinging above his Master’s figure like a strange flag. He smiled and promised to himself that he would draw this once home to show it to Bant and Feemor.

* * *

“That’s it, Master! We’re here!” His ember-boy exclaimed in an excited voice.

After an almost three hours’ walk, they were standing near the city’s entrance.

“-Now we have to find a solution to our little problem.” Continued Qui-Gon.   
His padawan had been right on the ship; there were now both covered by a thick layer of sludge, partially dried on the upper parts of their bodies. The Jedi Master shacked his lianas; it was perturbing to sense his water receptors obstructed by the mud. But he had been less attacked than his young apprentice. The human had dried splashes on his cheeks and on his nose.

He pocked one of them with his liana and feel affection toward the boy when his nose wrinkled in response.

“You’ll see, sometimes the Force provide answers to our questions or our problems.”

The child and he began to explore their environment, splitting up to cover more ground.

“Does that count as a Force answer?”

Qui-Gon followed the high-pitched voice and gave a gentle touch to his apprentice’s mind. “Exactly!”

Before them a river passed by, hidden in a row of trees. It would be the perfect place to freshen up.

The Nyaman approached the steam and bent forward, sliding one of his nearly-cleaned lianas in the current. “The water doesn’t come from the city, so there aren't too many substances resulting from the pollution in it. You may not know it,” he added, looking up toward his Padawan, “but Rodia is quite polluted, despite the reasoned urban development projects.”

“How do you know it simply by moistening your lianas?” Asked his always curious fire-boy.

“It’s my water receptor; they are very sensitive. I can detect the presence of water –which isn’t really useful in swamps, and deduce some facts about its composition: if it’s good to drink, if it’s tainted or if it came from mountain springs –in that case it’s often full of minerals.”

“So we can bath in it?”

“Yes. But we will have to be careful because the current is strong here. Let me enter into the water first.”

Qui-Gon put down the clothes on a dry rock and dived into the river. He took a moment to bask into the sensation of the cold liquid revitalizing his body. Then the Jedi Master spread his tentacle-like lianas around him, creating a large circle.   
“You can join me, Padawan. Hang on to my vines; I’ll shield you to keep you from drifting.”

The small dirty boy sat on the bank and began to slide into the water. He caught one of the largest appendages and used his feet to propel himself into the lianas’ loop.

“The temperature’s sooo good!” sighed his fire-boy. “The moist atmosphere was hard to bear during our stroll.” He leaned his head backwards to wet his neck. “I love water –and I mean un-muddy water!”

“Did you often swam in the Temple?” asked Qui-Gon.

“Yes! One of my best friends, Bant, is an amphibian and she had to keep her skin as damp as possible. We would accompany her to the Lake Level and plunge –or lay down on the humid grass of the Room of a thousand fountains.” It was true that the boy seemed to be in his element, a smile painted over his face, his tiny legs moving to keep his head out of the stream.

“You’ve told me that you were a seedling. But covered of mud like this-” the Jedi Master touched the spots on his cheeks, “-and enjoying so much the water… I think you are truly a little frog-dog!”

His padawan looked at him wide-eyed; he must have been remembering everything he knew about this grey-skinned swamp-dwellers species.

“But-but… That’s not right! I’m not misshapen! And I have legs! I can’t be a frog-dog!”

Qui-Gon couldn’t stop his lianas from trembling and curling as he laughed, and his apprentice had to grip more firmly the vine he was hanging onto. The look of betrayal on his face was too humorous.

“I don’t know…,” Added the Nyaman. “You’re a small and hungry sentient creature, just like them.”

“I’m pink! Look, I’m pink!” His fire-boy took one of his legs of out the water. “There’s no pink frog-dog!”

“So, your skin was rose under all this brown… Now, wash your face little frog! The Rodian won’t wait for us eternally!”

* * *

“Master, is it usual for your lianas to have this shade?”

“What shade?”

“I mean, they seem paler than their customary colour. A bit more lifeless too. Look! Your little leaves are all wrinkled! And they’re looking down.”

“It’s nothing, my young apprentice.”

“My plant book says healthy plants don’t look like that. Look at this image!”

“My Padawan, I know vegetal life-forms and myself better than you. You need to stop worrying so much.”

* * *

“Well, this had to happen, one day.” Tahl seemed resigned as her gaze travelled down her friend’s silhouette. “Usually he’s always the one to stare at us when we’re ill –as he can’t be touched by humanoid diseases. That was his luck, to catch a sickness preying on plants on Rodia.”

At her side, Padawan Kenobi’s eyes were damped. He was biting his lips, anxiety painted all over his face.

The Morseerian healer tried to be reassuring, taking into account the presence of the young apprentice. “It’s not a serious ailment; Master Jinn won’t even have to sleep in the Hall of Healing. He must have caught a bug when you two walked through the swamps. You won’t be affected by it; it’s only hurtful for vegetal life-forms.” She rearranged the breath mask giving her the precious methane-rich gas she needed to live around her conic-shaped head. Her green scales shone under the artificial light. “He will mostly need some down-time to recover.” Then she focused her attention on Obi-Wan. “As his Padawan, I will give you a series of instructions to carry out, with the assistance of some adults. You’ll be able to help your Master by respecting them.”

She must have used the right incentive because the boy stood straighter and seemed ready to note down every piece of advice.

“Master Jinn will need a climate closer to his home-planet’s one. So you’ll have to increase the temperature. During the hottest hours of the day, it would be good to expose him so the sunlight. He can’t go to the Room of a thousand fountains as he could contaminate the plants of the garden –but he could sit in front of the windows. I’ll give you a cataplasm to put on his roots and a nutrient spray to use on all his body three times a day. But your Master will above all need calm. Be attentive to limit your noise level. If you have any question during the recovery, please, feel free to ask them to the medical team!”

Tahl chose this moment to lean toward the boy. She gently caressed his short hair, until he looked up. “I know it’s difficult to see your Master being sick. He’s so tall and different from you; you probably think him invincible. But he’s not. Even adults have their down-times. And I will be here with you –until he’s back on his root again.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was small when he answered. “Thank you, Master Uvain.”

“Now, let me get you this medicine.”

* * *

“I’ve read the report Knight Junn made about you; he was really filled with enthusiasm by your progress in Twi’leki. He also praised the way you chose to step in to assist the Padawans of your classes who had difficulties.”

“I don’t deserve all the credits. Feemor helped me a lot to improve myself.” Obi-Wan smiled at Master Tahl, who was settling down in the living-room. She had spent her afternoon into the Archives to research information about Oba Diah. The Jedi Mistress had told him yesterday at lunch that an important mission was programmed on the planet, mobilising five Knights.

His Master’s friend had indeed been dividing her time between her obligations and their quarters. As Feemor was away on an assignment she was making a point to be with him for each meal until Master Qui-Gon was healed enough to take care of him. And nobody could say she wasn’t taking her role seriously.

“You also got a good evaluation during your Core worlds diplomacy’s lessons. Qui-Gon will be proud when he’ll hear about it.”

Discerning a question in her voice, Obi-Wan updated her on the Nyaman’s condition. “He was still very tired today. He fell asleep during the seventeenth hour of the day and I think he will only wake up tomorrow morning. He asked me a bit about my day and made the exercises the healer prescribed.”

“That’s good! Were you able to put the cataplasm on his roots?”

“No.” The apprentice’s lips turned down. “Master Qui-Gon drifted off quicker than I had thought and I didn’t have the time to apply it.”

“That’s not a problem; we’ll do it together later. For the moment, I’ll see if there is something to eat in the kitchen. Do you know if he keeps all the foodstuff under the sink or if there is some elsewhere? Because we’ve finished the boxes.”

“He put his last purchases in the cupboard under the window.”

“Ah! I see it.” The Padawan heard her searched in the pantry as he started to brush Alana with his mind. His flower must have perceived his lying anxiety because she sent him a wave of good feelings. He closed his eyes and her singsong soul lulled him into a calmer state.   
His plant had also been a real ally in these difficult days; she sang to him every time she could, lightening the too-quiet rooms.

“Obi-Wan, why do you have so many kinds of pasta in this cupboard? There are almost ten –no, a dozen packets!”

“That’s Master Qui-Gon’s fault. He discovered I liked them and heard from Master Windu that there were healthy for young human boys. So he bought far too much of them. I also think he secretly liked their forms.”

The apprentice could feel master Uvain’s amusement from the living-room.

“In that case… Are you ready to eat Alana-shaped wheat-based pasta, young Padawan?”

* * *

“… I’m very happy you called, Feemor. Is your mission going well?”

“It’s rather calm here –which is strange when you know the gravity of the situation. What do you know about Cantonica, Obi-Wan?”

The apprentice looked at the small blue silhouette of his Brother-Padawan, appearing in the holocall. This name was familiar to him. He must have heard it during his classes…

“Ah! Cantonica in the Outer Rim? At the end of the Hydian way?”

“This one precisely! Come on, let me see how much you like Master Udillu’s lessons!” The grin on the Knight’s face warmed the young boy’s heart. He tried to gather all the facts he was sure of, to impress him.

“It’s a planet in the Corporate sector, in the most faraway region of the Outer Rim. This sector is kind of particular because very important companies and corporations can run a whole planet there. And I think Cantonica is a desert world?”

“That’s very well for a young apprentice! I know the Outer Rim is more detailed during the Senior Padawan’s classes.” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled in the corners as he bathed in the praise. “Cantonica’s government is buying most of the grain produced by the nearby sectors –and not only the cereals marked out for exportation. They put pressure on the agricultural worlds to buy all their stock, creating artificial penuries on dozen moons and planets. Then they force their ideas, their goods or their factories on the local populations, menacing to leave them to starve if they don’t agree to their terms.”

“And if they bow, the grain is delivered, no?”

“Yes, that’s their strategy. They are out of the Republic territory so we wouldn’t have been able to intervene. That is, until Mirial, a Republic-aligned planet, was compromised. You may know of it –Knight Luminara Unduli was born there. Now the Senate gave their approval for a diplomatic mission.”

“Are the negotiations complicated?” Enquired the young boy.

“They are mostly unnerving,” sighed Feemor. “The members of Cantonica’s government are taking their time, a glass of Aldaarian wine in their hand. They are ruthless and don’t care about the people starving in the nearby sectors.”

“I hope you’ll find a solution soon.” Added Obi-Wan. He could already see the situation was taking its toll on the Knight.

“Me too.” The Caamasi rubbed the fur covering his head with his three-fingered hand. “Let’s make a change of subject! How is the great Master?”

“Better! He’s not resting all day anymore! As he’s often with me, Master Uvain doesn’t come as many times a day as before. He takes his treatment without groaning. But…” Obi-Wan gave his brother-padawan a lopsided smile. “I think he really long to be outside, now. It’s not reasonable as he’s not strong enough for a two way trip to the Room of a thousand fountains. So he’s all… Well… Master Tahl says he’s being a ‘whining mess’. I just think he’s unhappy his recovery is limiting him so much. ”

“That is so typical of him,” teased the young Knight. “Don’t forget to take time for yourself too. You deserve it; it must not be always easy to take care of the old Jedi.”

“He’s not that old!” Retaliated the Padawan.

“Oh, he is!” Feemor laughed softly. “I have to go back to the negotiations’ table. Take care, Obi-Wan.”

“You too!”

The apprentice switched off his holocom and stretched his back. His nose wrinkled when he sent his tunic’s foul smell. As prescribed by the healer, Obi-Wan had increased the quarters’ temperature and with the heat quickly came a sour odour of sweat, produced by his body. Master Qui-Gon wasn’t disturbed at all by it as he couldn’t scent him, but the Padawan felt like he couldn’t bear it one more minute. It was giving him a headache.

He finally opted to simply remove his tunic, obi and pants, keeping only his underwear on. The boy inspired profoundly; yes, it was definitely better. He didn’t felt the warm atmosphere in the same way on his bare skin.

Obi-Wan checked the chrono; it was time for the nutrient spray. He took the bottle left on the table and walked toward his Master’s bedroom.

The Nyaman was glued on the large window, his lianas curving on the transparisteel. His apprentice looked over him carefully; the Jedi Master’s improving condition was evident. His leaves were no longer curling and dying. His complexion was also darker. And he had the force to stand up!

“Hello, my Padawan. Was that Feemor’s voice?”

“Yes, he was talking about his current mission and taking some news of us.”

“He’s a good boy, always was.”

His Master was still in a melancholic mood, this afternoon. Obi-Wan didn’t like to hear him talk like that. He had to find a solution. _Because he loved the Nyaman, wanted to stay by his side and help him when he needed it._

“I’ve got the spray; could you turn around for a moment?”

The tall figure of the Jedi Master got away from the window to face him. One of his vines curved to manifest his surprise when he saw him far less clothed than usual.

Obi-Wan tried to seem very serious –just like an adult, as he explained himself. “I’ve had time to think about what you told me on Rodia, about my body and nudity. And I think you are right on this subject; I shouldn’t let old conventions shame my choices. Plus, my clothes are gritty and I feel more comfortable like that.”

He started to use the bottle on the head of his Master, continuing downwards on the lianas. The Padawan didn’t repress his smile when the creepers trembled in joy at the contact of the medicine. He finished by the roots peaking underside the leaves who brushed the floor, making the large Jedi jump.

“I’m ticklish,” he muttered when he saw his apprentice’s wide surprised eyes.

Obi-Wan put the spray away and stared at the Nyaman turning again toward the window. He knew his Master wasn’t choosing to be so despondent. It had been hard for him the first days but Master Tahl and Feemor’s support helped him. And his plant book had also proven to be useful again. The young boy had seen that low sunlight could affect a great deal some vegetal life-forms, and he was sure Nyamans was one of them. In a few days, the Jedi Master would be able to go to the gardens and his state would change for the best.

_And it would be possible because he wasn’t infectious anymore! This was giving him some ideas…_

The Padawan went to his room and took the pot carefully put on his bedside table. _Alana, I need you to help me with Master Qui-Gon!_

He felt the well-known presence caressing his mind as he joined again his Master.

“As you’re almost healed, I thought I could bring her with us for your sunbath.” Obi-Wan held Alana out for the Nyaman, who took the flower between his lianas. “She wants to communicate today so it would be unfair to leave her alone in my room.” He tried to make a puppy-face to labour his point –Feemor had told him he was skilled for it. “Would you agree to keep her company?”

Master Qui-Gon must have understood his stratagem because the Padawan could feel a bit of amusement in the Force. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

The boy laid down on the soft ground, under the sunlight. He closed his eyes, feeling Coruscant I caressing his skin. “Do you think I’ll be able to get a tan, Master?”

“If you do, I really want to see it. Xanatos never managed to get one; he only became very red.” 

* * *

Let it be said that Jedi Master Mace Windu was dutiful.

He had trained a few Knights in the dojos during the first hour of the day, then had eaten with Great Master Yoda. Some dishes were delicious such as this green vegetable soup and some barely comestible –someone should tell the old imp to stop baking cake. Then he had spoken with the healers to review their situation and contemplate the purchase of new medical equipment. Finally, he was present to a council reunion to prepare the mission on Oba Diah.

Despite this very long and occupied day, he had found the faith to decide to visit his –friend? colleague?, accompanied by his former apprentice Depa Billaba. She had been adamant that she wanted to encounter Qui-Gon’s new Padawan. And for his part, he was keeping tabs on the kid –just as he had promised.

But standing at the threshold of their quarters, he was suddenly engulfed by a powerful feeling of dread. He knew something was going to happen.

 _Stars! He was too tired for all this bantha fodder_.

He sighed and knocked nonetheless on the door, signalling also his presence within the Force.

“You can enter, Master Windu! Depa, it’s good to see you too!”

The Nyaman was sitting on the couch, appearing better than the last time he had seen him pinned on his bed. “You are looking healthier, Qui-Gon.”

“Yes, I have my Padawan, Tahl and Alana to thank for that.” He pointed out the two chairs with one of his lianas, inviting them to sit down and walk toward the kitchen.

“Alana? Is she a neighbour?” Mace ventured. He couldn’t know the name of the ten thousand Jedi currently inhabiting this galaxy.

“Not exactly,” replied the Jedi Master as he started to pour the tea.

“And your apprentice? What can you tell me about him?” Enquired Depa. Her long auburn hair was braided tightly and seeing them reminded Mace of happy times. He had liked to learn how to plaid it when she had been his Padawan.

“He’s serious, dedicated and attentive. Full of surprises sometimes. He’s also a very academic learner and -”

A pale silhouette cached his attention on the periphery of his visual field. The human Jedi Master turned his head to face a narked bottom. “Padawan Kenobi?”

The boy stopped himself –he had been trying to slither back into his room. “… Hi Master Windu?”

“Padawan! What is this outfit? Why are you so …unclothed?!” The man could feel his face becoming redder with each passing second. Qui-Gon’s apprentice seemed to hesitate between fighting and fleeing, choosing finally to sit near them.

“I had a discussion with my Master during our last mission and his wisdom touched me.” _Qui-Gon? Wisdom? In what kind of trouble was he entering…?_ “We talked about habits and customs, the social role of clothes and the respect we owned to our body. I thought about it for a long time and realised I felt more comfortable without them –especially in our currently-tropical quarters.” _The brat was smiling, apparently proud of his discourse. Qui-Gon, what have you done, again?_

“But- You just can’t choose- not to dress!” Tried to explain the councillor.

“I know people tell you since you’re little that being narked is unnatural. But showing skin isn’t shameful. In fact, I can guarantee you there’s nothing more understandable! We’re born like it; it’s our natural state. Look, Alana and Qui-Gon never wear clothes! And there’s no problem.”

Mace was starting to see an ocean of problems. And another Knight was playing nude, too? “I would like to see this Alana, one day. I think I would have a lot of things to tell her.”

“I can bring her!” The boy seemed very pleased with his suggestion. He rose and the Jedi Master turned away to look at the two other adults. Depa’s eyes were crinkled in amusement and Qui-Gon’s lianas were trembling.

Apparently, he was the only serious Jedi present in the room.

The auburn-haired child came back with a flower in his hands and Mace knew then that he was going to have a headache.

“Is this Alana?”

“Yes, Master! I told her new people wanted to meet her; she’s excited to get acquainted with you!”

Mace sighed and encouraged the boy to sit beside him. He would have to lead this conversation apparently –as he was the only one to preserve their young ones here. “Can you tell me the common point between your Master and Alana?”

“… They are vegetal sentient life-forms.”

“And what are you, Obi-Wan? Are you a vegetal life-form?”

The child lowered his head and stared at his knees. “No. I’m a human boy.”

“And human boys wear clothes, Obi-Wan.” The Jedi was a bit awkward but he had to make his point. “Maybe you don’t see what you did as something bad, but you could have problems if you continue. Your Master was right when he told you that nudity wasn’t shameful, and you should treat well your body. That also means, when you’re a boy, that you should cover it in front of other people. Not because it’s shameful and to be hidden,” he added, “But because it’s precious, and belong to you only. Now,” he indicated his room with a sign of his head, “go put a tunic and some pants.”

The boy ran to his room and an embarrassed silence took over the living-room.

“It was the will of the Force that we found him before he chooses to go naked in classes,” finally said Depa. “Can you imagine the face of Master Drallig?”

Her sentence made them laugh and lighten the atmosphere.

“I know you didn’t think of the consequences this could have.” Mace looked at his friend and gave him a crooked smile. “Nudity and clothes don’t have the same meaning for your species. It’s not linked to sexuality or even intimacy. But your boy would be sexualised he started to live nude. And you don’t want him to be seen as a sexual being until well passed his majority!”

“Now, Padawan,” Mace invited the now impeccably-dressed boy to sit beside him. “We can start again. Meet my former apprentice, Knight Depa Billaba. Let’s do some exercise: what can you tell her to introduce yourself?”

* * *

_His view is blurred. He had difficulties to understand what happens around him._

_There’s sand. Sand surrounding him, gritty on his skin. A blinding star walks by his side. It’s small and energetic._

_Then, there are green things, grass and stone buildings. A smell of fear. A tall tree stands in front of a dark demon. Maybe they’re fighting. Maybe the guardian is protecting something._

_But suddenly the tree catches fire and the flames burn high, so high!_

_In the end, there are only ashes._

Obi-Wan woke up shaking, his cold hands clenching the sheets. His heart was beating so fast, as if it was trying to outrun his nightmare.

Those last few weeks had taught him that his Master wasn’t invincible.

And now he was laying on his bed, scared, terrified that the next lesson he would have to learn was how to live without him.


	8. Of Maverick Masters and Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I give you a plotty plot chapter this time. I hope you'll enjoy it!

His Padawan lowered his head between his shoulders as he heard a bomb fall not very far away from their hiding place. Beside him, Qui-Gon didn’t even flinch. One of his lianas was gripping the holocom.

“… I know the situation you’re facing is terrible. But the new government of this moon is already weak and we can’t let it crumble. The military dictatorship ruling the planet Azerb I will try to take advantage of the situation and attack the recently independent Azerb II. We have to save the new institutions. So you will privilege an escape. You have to lead the government off the moon. Helping civilians will have to wait a bit more.”

The small figure of Ki-Adi-Mundi stared at them, the projection slightly deformed by the unsteady connection.

“The elected representatives will be saved, Master Mundi. Master Jinn, out.”

The Nyaman switched off the holocom. His lianas were limped as he was greatly annoyed by the Council’s order.

He had reasons to be. Their last missions must have been too peaceful, everything going more or less as planned: the congress on Alderaan –which had been pretty calm, or even their expedition of Rodia -which went well if you forget the crash-landing part.

This time, a simple diplomatic assignment was exploding and becoming a full-blown war.

Nobody had seen it coming as they had thought Azerb I would have more common sense.

His Padawan and he had been sent on a small moon in the Outer Rim called Azerb II. This astronomical object was orbiting a large terrestrial planet and it was little to say that their shared history was complicated. Fortunately, the Temple’s archives had contained enough data to help him prepare their mission.

It was difficult not to grind one’s teeth when you looked at the conclusions offered by the report. Obi-Wan had been in any case troubled by it and had taken the time to talk about them with the Nyaman and Tahl.

Human settlers, coming essentially from the Colonies, had explored the farthest corners of the Galaxy and discovered there a habitable System. They chose to establish their first city on the biggest terrestrial planet, who would rapidly take the name of Azerb I. After a time of adaptation to unseal the secrets of this new world, they began to erect a nation-state relying on the land’s aggressive industrialisation.

During the last century, a military dictatorship had formed on the planet. Azerb I, the biggest and most industrialized planet of the System, could now be characterized by its nationalism and the idea of the greatness of the nation sustained among the population. One of their most brilliant economical sectors was the weaponry. They created blasters and light starships sold on numerous Outer-Rim worlds.

They had also the strange idea that all the other celestial bodies contained in their System were theirs by right.

So when the small forest-moon of Azerb II, populated by the native people of the terrestrial planet displaced by the first settlers and humans volunteering to cultivate the land, tried to claim its independence…

The situation quickly became bloody.

Having no heavy weapons, the inhabitants resort to guerrilla warfare which they finally won, as the soldiers of Azerb I didn’t understand the distinctive features of this moon, so different from their urbanised planet. A new government was elected and Azerb II officially applied to become part of the Republic.

This was where the Jedi’s role started. The fragile nature of the peace between the two nations had been acknowledged by the Republic, who had sent power shields to the moon. Their goals had been to safeguard the newly established state during the negotiations. And as Jedi, they had been dispatched to serve as additional protection detail.

The first days of the missions went remarkably well; the Jedi Master loved the forest-moon, with its large and lively woods, its swamps and medium-sized cities. Even Obi-Wan had been impressed –particularly by their horticulture, their fields of small blue and yellow flowers commonly used for decoration.

Then Azerb II had launched a final offensive from the inside, with two spies sabotaging the power shields. In a matter of hours, bombs started to level the moon’s surface.

Which led them to this current conversation with the Council, who preferred to preserve a government in exile than risking fighting and losing these elected representatives.

“… Then I suppose that we’ll have to find a ship to evacuate, Master Qui-Gon. Do you want me to start looking for one?”

“Not now, my Padawan,” answered the Nyaman. “We’re going to try to save the moon and its independence in another way, at first.”

Obi-Wan, who was already looking a bit sick, turned his head to stare at him. “What do you mean, Master?”

“I mean that… I think the Council is making a mistake, which is understandable as they aren’t in the field. If we leave now, this ‘government in exile’ will return to a dirty, devastated and unpopulated graveyard. We can’t let it happen.”

“But that’s –that’s against the Council’s direct orders! You just can’t do that, Master!” His poor boy –only thirteen and he was again propelled into an armed conflict. Despite everything, he still possessed a unique mix of innocence and sense of duty. At the moment, even though bombs were devastating the moon, he found the idea of disobeying to the Council ghastly. His wide eyes and his accusing gaze where humorous features in this context.

Qui-Gon promised himself that he would remind his apprentice of this moment in a few years –because it was unthinkable to lose him in the middle of this attack.

Qui-Gon knew that a Jedi’s life was made of sacrifices. But he couldn’t bear to imagine himself building a pyre for such a small body.

“Who do you serve, Obi-Wan?” He asked the boy, staring at him in the eyes. “The Council? Or the Force?”

The child took this expression he has when he knows that the conversation is very important –with his crinkled nose and solemn look. “The Force, Master.”

“Then, listen to the Force. Attentively. I can hear it now, and it’s telling me that there is another way.”

His autumn-head boy closed his eyes and his presence in the Force changed. When he opened them again, it was to say, with a glowing determination: “Let’s search for this solution.”

* * *

The beginning of an answer appeared with one of the elected representatives. The woman had long strawberry hair pined on the top of her head with silver hairpins. She seemed unafraid, with a steel spine as she stared at them.

“I know how to move without being targeted by the missiles.”

“How?” Asked Master Qui-Gon. “And would it help us to reach the power shields?”

“We can use the tunnels. There’s a network of underground galleries created by the native people covering most of the inhabited grounds. They used it initially to build their nest –they have a hive mind and find security beneath the earth. But we worked with them to expand this system. We found that it permits us to lessen our impact on the forest and to shorten our travel times. And as we’re living on forestry, agriculture and horticulture mostly… We have to preserve our limited space.”

“Perfect. Can you lead us to the shields? I’ll take the head and you’ll guard the rear, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan let the elected representatives walked past him and took his lightsaber in his hands as he started to follow them. He could still hear the deafening sound of the falling bombs, fortunately still spaced out by a few minutes. It was a slow bombing; maybe they were still warming up.   
He couldn’t even think of what would happen when they’ll stop to want to make people afraid –and just start to want to see them dead.

They went down the stairs in the heart of the secure residence of the National assembly’s members. Obi-Wan counted five landings before they arrived at the cave.   
“It’s here, the entrance to the galleries from our residence. I have the key; I can open it.” Added the well-clothed woman. The apprentice noted that she was wearing flat shoes. He wondered if she had chosen them for their practicality. It was quite probable, as these elected officials seemed infinitely more down-to-earth than those debating into the Galactic Senate.

A shiver went up and down his spine as they entered the tunnel. The air was noticeably colder than outside and the atmosphere was a bit moister. At least it was well-lighted by yellowish bulbs. The Padawan took the time to observe its walls and architecture as they walked forwards underground. Dark dirt surrounded them, compacted so tightly that he, at first, mistook it for stones. The barrel vault and the crossroads creating large open spaces were kept in place by red wooden beams.

“It’s depia, one of our native trees.” Explained softly a man who has caught his inquisitive gaze. “This wood is rot-proof, so we often use it as a building material.”

Their journey underneath the earth seemed to last an eternity. The apprentice found in his Master courage and a bit of joy, necessary to quell the restlessness growing in him as the walls seemed to close on him. The tall Nyaman was indeed forced to bend to fit in the tunnels, which made quite a humorous sight. Their guide finally stopped in a wide room from which a tunnel seemed to go up again.   
“If you climb this way you’ll emerge just beside the power shields’ installations.”

“Thank you, Madam.” Then the Nyaman turned toward Obi-Wan. “This is where our path diverges. I’m going to repair the shields and I need you to stay here with the elected officials.”

“Why?” The situation seemed absolutely unfair. To be abandoned by his Master? Hadn’t he done well enough? “Why would you go without me? I can be useful, I promise!”

“That’s not the problem. You’re very good at your job, and this is why I need you here rather than beside me.” Master Qui-Gon leaned forwards and stretched out one of his lianas. He caressed his dusty hair with it and tugged a bit on his braid. “The men and women need to be protected. We can’t leave them alone to die; the Council was right about that. They are the guarantee of this more peaceful and elected regime. If they die, there’s no diplomatic barrier to preserve the people against falling into Azerb I’s orbit again. I believe enough in you to put them under your protection.”

There was nothing more to say. “Thank you, Master. I’ll guard them with my life.”

“We’ll see each other soon, my apprentice.”

Then Master Qui-Gon’s silhouette started to disappear into the smaller tunnel.

Obi-Wan encouraged the elected representatives to sit down into the room and took place before them, lightsaber in hand. His digits were a bit sweaty and he rubbed them on his tunic, trying to have a better grasp on his weapon. He had to be ready in case the situation turned bad outside and the soldiers launched an attack into the underground galleries.

His Master had faith in him. He’ll have to prove himself worthy of it.

“So you are a warrior apprentice, young boy?”

One of the oldest men was talking to him. He had a low and calming voice, piercing the clouds of anxiety floating in the room. Obi-Wan shifted a bit to look at him and keep the tunnel’s entry in his vision’s field at the same time. The man’s skin was dark and wrinkled whereas his short hair was starkly white.

“My Master would say that we are peacemakers rather than warriors, guardians of the Republic. We are taking up arms to be sure than the civilians don’t have to do it.”

The old man smiled and thanked him. “We are grateful for your presence. You’re courageous to take such risks for us, for a moon you’ve never put a foot on before.”

“Can you tell us a bit more about your group?” Asked more timidly a middle-aged woman. “We’re a bit off-centred from the rest of the galaxy so we don’t hear much about you.”

“We’re part of the Jedi Order, which is a religious order defending the Republic. We live mostly in the Temple, on Coruscant. The Order’s independent from the Senate, as we have our own leaders, but we often work with official institutions. As Jedi, we accomplish diplomatic missions, provide humanitarian aid, hunt some criminals or investigate on worrying situations.”

Talking about others things than the bombs currently ravaging their homeland seemed to help them to set aside their distress for the moment. The Padawan’s heart ached a bit when he saw their washed-out faces regain some life.

“But you seem so young; aren’t you afraid to be hurt, when you fight? Or to lose your teacher?”

Obi-Wan swallowed his saliva as the question echoed with the anxiety eating him since his Master was ill. “There is no death, there is the Force.”

He turned once again to face the tunnel and he tried to believe it. 

* * *

Qui-Gon was as discreet as possible when he walked toward the large power shields. The beasts were enormous, standing on durasteel feet and spreading their metallic wings like silent mechanical birds-guards. He crouched behind them, trying to hide his large frame and opened the control panel; he had to know more about these models if he wanted to do something for them.

Tiny letters and numbers were written in the corner of the generator. The inscription was however too ingrained with dirt to be readable. The Jedi Master used one of his lianas to clean it, disliking the sensation of the cold filthy metal on his sensitive water receptors. _There. Model XCP-363._

Qui-Gon’s leaves curled a bit in surprise. That was a very recent and costly technology. The Republic was therefore very serious in its offer of protection. The Nyaman knew that their commitment wasn’t disinterested. The Senate wanted indeed to protect and chaperon this budding democracy but they wished even more to have a Republican outpost in the northern part of the Outer Rim, near the Tingel Arm. This would give them more influence on the hyperspace lines –an economical and strategical objective.

It was giving and taking; everyone was satisfied in the end. Except for Azerb I, he supposed.

The zone had been deserted by both the saboteurs and the guards, who wouldn’t have known how to repair the shields anyway. That was the most common problem you’re facing when you lend advanced material to a nation who hadn’t yet mastered these technologies –and hadn’t been trained to use it.

The Jedi Master himself wasn’t very comfortable with technological miracles. He felt far more connected to organic forms of life than to machines. But as the situation demanded it, he would do his best. Too many lives depended on him.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and slowly breathed-out. He concentrated on his body, the sensations he felt: the sun, the noise of the falling bombs, the caress of the wind. Then he extended his conscience outside of his body, reaching in the Force. There! Before him, stood a puzzle. Pieces had been displaced or damaged. The body couldn’t function if the organs were impaired. He had to repair it, to put each part to their rightful place. He extended a liana and a screw was put aside. Once the cables were bared, he took a resistance which had been cleverly hidden, buried hastily in a small hole in the ground. He repaired its connections and put in back inside the generator. Now, some wires had been cut. His mind put the ends side by side and knit them together again.

The Jedi Master worked during almost twenty minutes on the control panel, disconnected from the rest of the world, unable to feel the time flying by. Until something clicked into his mind, until he could sense a healthy and complete body in front of him, ready to live. He opened slowly his eyes and push the bottom activating the Republican machines.

His lianas trembled with relief when the generator started to hum and the metallic wings turned. A colourless dome appeared above the buildings.

When the first bomb was stopped by the energy screen, disintegrated without touching the ground, he felt dozens of disbelieving then joyful bright minds, shouting and shining in the Force. His insides swelled with delight and he could swear his sap was warmer, heated by all this new hope.

Qui-Gon rose again; his work wasn’t finished with this victory. He still had to return to his apprentice and to find a secure place for the elected representatives –until the spies were found at least.  
One thing was sure; he would be glad to talk about their successful mission to the Order. He allowed himself a bit of smugness when he thought of their future report. He had chosen to disobey to the Council because the Force had shown him another way. But he would be glad nonetheless to see Ki-Adi-Mundi, his brother-Padawan, and Mace Windu’s faces when they’ll hear about it. 

* * *

As Obi-Wan walked into the corridors of the Temple, enjoying the feeling of clean clothes brushing his skin, he reminded himself of their difficult meeting with the Council. This had been one thing he hadn’t known about his Master: that he was a maverick and enjoyed to see the wise Jedi squirm on their white seats.

He still felt embarrassed about the whole scene; the apprentice wasn’t sure he would ever be able to stand by Master Qui-Gon’s side and see him play with words in front of the whole Council without blushing. His face had been so red when they had left the room that the Nyaman had teased him mercilessly afterwards.

But now the joy of an accomplished mission had gone down a little and his worries were coming back again, just like a wave. Always hitting the shore, day after day. He felt unbalanced. He couldn’t stay like this: he had to get some help.

He could have gone to his Master, but the Nyaman was more connected to nature and the living Force than to mechanical parts or to visions. He remembered then how Master Yoda, who often visited the Crèche, had gotten him this little notebook in which he noted down his dreams. He had always been attentive to the needs of those who saw too much.

Still, he hesitated when he stood before Yoda’s quarters. What if the Master thought he was disturbing him for nothing? What if he simply didn’t listen to him? That would be terrible. Obi-Wan had been taught since childhood than Masters meant protection, safe-space, advice and good listeners.  
So he tried his luck and knock on the door.

The green wrinkled face of the Grand Master appeared in front of him. “Youngling? Here you are? Why?”

His soft voice reassured Obi-Wan and gave him enough courage to express himself. He tried to put his ideas into words but the only thing that came out was a plead for help.

“I’m afraid, Master.”

The small Jedi opened his door widely and the Padawan followed him inside.


	9. Welcome to the J.E.D.I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you're still fine and safe during this difficult period. I learned that a distant member of my family died of the Corona a few days ago. It's especially sad because his spouse won't be able to give him a decent burial.
> 
> Otherwise, I loved to write this chapter in which new characters appear -I hope you'll enjoy them too!

Visiting Master Yoda had been the best thing to do. The old Jedi had talked with him during more than an hour, listening to his fears and offering advice. _Having those interrogations, most Jedi do. Fearing for a friend, normal it is. But trust the Force you must. Let you down it will not. The Force is everywhere. So never far away are our lost ones. And be reunited together in the Force we will. Never to be parted again._

They had even meditated together before Obi-Wan left the quarters to go back to his Master. He thought he had been able to sense something familiar within Yoda when their mind had bathed together in the Force –something that reminded him of soft affection, green leaves and sweat appearing during intense training sessions. His imprint had some common features with Master Qui-Gon’s, which was natural as his mind and body had been nurtured by the old Jedi. Thinking of his teacher as an apprentice was terribly weird for him. It was so strange to imagine him young! Had he ever been little, this gigantic Jedi who towered over him and protected him from the rain once, on Alderaan? Had he ever doubted himself? He must always have been this strong and self-confident.

Feeling the powerful and tender mind of his Grand-Master brushed against his had helped him to find his equilibrium again.

Now, the young apprentice felt a bit excited as he walked toward the Room of a thousand fountains. Bant and he had agreed to meet in the garden, near the red waterfall –the Mon Calamari’s favourite. His friend had apparently something important to share with him.

Obi-Wan smiled and breathed-in deeply as he crossed the threshold of the immense greenhouse. There always was a comforting and unique fragrance in this place, something you couldn’t find anywhere else on Coruscant. Something green, fresh, maybe a little earthy. An undertone of humid soil with decomposing leaves nourishing the moss and the plants. He greeted the few Knights and Masters who weren’t meditating and headed for the southern corner of the garden.

The waterfalls there were higher and noisier than in the rest of the greenhouse; therefore, Jedi searching to reach new heights by contemplation chose calmer places to exercise their minds. This made it the ideal meeting spot for rowdier Initiates or chattering Padawan. Obi-Wan stepped behind a tall palm tree and looked at the artificial cascade, the water roaring and crashing on the grey mossy rocks. A bent tree with a rough and dark bark adorned it, clinging on the stones who covered the lower part of the wall. This exotic species gave its name to this waterfall; its leaves in shapes of small stars were indeed deeply red all year along.

“Hello, Bant!”

The Mon Calamari sitting on a rock, feet in the water, turned toward him and smiled. Her skin was dark pink –a sign of good health, and the Force resonated with her happiness.

“Obi-Wan! Here you are!”

The Padawan joined her and crouched to remove his boots. He sighed as he put them behind him and plunged his toes in the cool liquid.

“How do you feel?” Asked Bant, humming softly. “You just came back to the Temple, no?”

“Yes, our ship arrived two days ago. It was a difficult mission; I’m grateful to be back home.”

The young man looked at his friend and blinked. He hadn’t noticed it before when she was in three-quarters profile, but silka beads were dangling behind her large, round and moisty eyes.

“Bant? You’re a Padawan now?”

“Yes! That was what I wished to tell you!” Her joy was communicative. She was beaming so much that his skin felt warmer; as if happiness, like a star, could heat and nourish all the people around you. “Master Uvain chose me last week! Our partnership is still new but I feel like we’re clicking together. I can’t wait to start the core of our lessons!”

_Master Tahl had taken Bant as her apprentice! Master Qui-Gon hadn’t told him anything. She must have asked him to let his friend announce it.  
It was true that she had talked about finding her own Padawan during the Nyaman’s recovery.  
One thing was sure: she couldn’t have made a better choice._

“I’m so happy for you! Master Uvain’s amazing. You’re going to make such a good duo.” Then he clasped his hands together and grinned. “Our Masters are friends, too. So maybe we’ll have the chance to see each other often!”

“I hope we’ll be luckier than Garen. Since he began his apprenticeship with this Knight working hand in hand with the Exploration Corps… He’s never at the Temple! The last time I saw him was six months ago!”

“And you know him, as he hates to use him comm… He never leaves us messages!” Added Obi-Wan.

“I think I should stick his comm to his hand next time.” Bant scraped off a bit of moss with her claw-tipped fingers. “On another subject, you just told me your mission had been difficult. What happened?”

“A newly independent moon in the Outer Rim tried to join the Republic. The Senate had sent power shields to assure the protection of the weak state during the negotiation. But the nearby planet who was colonizing it before sabotaged them and started a systematic bombing of the moon’s surface. Master Jinn and I had to guard the elected representatives and to appease the situation. To sum up, we walked through the town using an underground network. Master Qui-Gon repaired the shields, meanwhile, I protected the elected officials.

“The bombs destroyed many facilities and damaged the fields –but most of the population had been saved. They had been hidden beneath the earth with the natives. The Senate was absolutely furious against the planet and stationed peacekeepers on the moon to help the growing nation. They also threated to establish an economic blockade. Honestly, I think this possibility scared them more than the guards stationed on the moon.”

The Mon Calamari was staring at him, eyes wide opened.

“How do you always end up with such dangerous assignments? Young Padawans normally just do their best not to yawn during interminable and boring negotiations. You know, like Siri who thought she was going mad after five days of talks about the rice price exported by the Colonies.”

“All of our missions don’t go too badly!” Tried to say Obi-Wan. “Look, Alderaan went well! Rodia, too!”

“Obi-Wan, you crashed the ship. This can’t be called a safe, non-life-threatening assignment. And your Master was sick afterwards. You were sad as a little stone until he was back on his feet –I mean, roots.”

_Well. She was kind of right._

“I’m sure our next mission will be calm, you’ll see!”

Bant didn’t look as she believed him.

“Just- take care of yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

The human bent his head and laid it on her shoulder. He breathed in her scent, with this salty hint, and frowned slightly when he found her skin a bit too dry to his taste.

“Are you hydrated enough?”

The Mon Calamari caressed his hair. “I’ll have to take a bath after our meeting. I need special minerals and nutrients that can’t be found in the Room of a thousand fountains’ water.”

“I have some if you want it!”

His friend gave him a sceptical look. “Why would you have this kind of mineral water on you?”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself: he blushed. “It’s for my Master.” Then he gave her the small spray he had hung onto his belt.

Bant took it, rolled the bottle between her palms and finally used it on her elbows. “That’s good stuff; exactly the kind you can ask for when you’re an amphibian Jedi.” She sprayed some more on her face and gave it back to him. “Since when do you have it on you? Did your Master asked you to?”

“No, I had this idea with my plant book; then the discussions we had together about our diets offered me more precisions. During his recovery, I asked the medical team if they could provide me with some of this water, filled with nutrient and I added a strap on my belt to keep it with me. I feel like I can help him this way, like it’s a proof he can count on me. I know he keeps cereal bars in his belt; in exchange, I retain some of this liquid.”

The Mon Calamari hugged him tightly. “He’s very lucky to have you as his Padawan.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and enjoyed this peaceful moment, the body of his dear friend pressed against him. He felt as if he was an Initiate again, snuggling up in the dormitory with his playmates. A salty scent tickled his nose and the sound of the waterfall seemed to isolate them from the rest of the Temple.

He felt home.

* * *

“You’re Padawan Kenobi? Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

The young boy, bent over his datapad in the archives, raised his head. He had been searching for information about the Third Great Expansion of the Republic during more than two hours; their teacher in Republican Space was an interesting but demanding woman.

A teenage Togruta was waiting beside him. She was very tall, with deep bloody-red skin. Her montrals were long, pale with large orange strips. The white pigmentation present on her face was forming ribbons around her eyes and on her cheeks. Obi-Wan noted that she was wearing a leather sash in front of her legs in addition to her Padawan uniform. It was delicately adorned with abstract and figurative patterns.

“Yes, I’m Padawan Kenobi. And you are?”

“Senior Padawan Tesla Laam. I’m sorry to disturb you when you’re studying, but you were hard to find.” Her voice was pleasantly low as she answered him.

“That’s not a problem; I should take a break anyway.” Obi-Wan switched off his datapad and rubbed his eyes. He had the very nasty impression that they were going to melt. _That was why he hated to spend so much time in front of his screen._

“The big news is: you’re invited to come to the next J.E.D.I. meeting.”

 _J.E.D.I.?_ What was it? Was he missing something?

“Which is…?” His lost look made her sighed. For a Senior Padawan, she certainly didn’t seem very patient.

“The Jedi Educational Diversity Initiative.” She opened her arms as she explained the acronym. Then she shrugged, giving him a lopsided smile. “It’s normal that haven’t heard about it. It’s quite a _hush-hush_ thing. Normally I should have recruited you earlier this year, but almost all members were off-Temple. Now, the error is corrected. We’ll be waiting for you in room C-25!”

She spun on her left foot and started to walk toward the door.

“Wait!” Obi-Wan shout at her. His neighbour sent him a nasty look above his screen. “When is it? Your meeting?”

“It’s tomorrow, beginning with the twentieth hour!” 

* * *

“You seem a bit troubled, Padawan.”

The young boy turned his fork in his plate to mix the cloud-like pasta with the berry sauce. He would have to thank his brother-Padawan for the condiments again. He had filled one of their cupboard with meat, fruits and sauce –which helped him to finish the last pasta packets.

Feemor, his saviour.

“Somebody talked to me in the Archives today.”

“Normally it’s a good sign if somebody chats with you. That means you still look functioning.” Obi-Wan raised his head to look at his Master. The ends of his lianas were all curled-up –which was a sign that he was joking. “Sometimes, when I see Mace’s narked face with large bruised areas under his eyes, I don’t talk to him. He looks more dead than alive.”

“He has even more duties than you. Can you imagine all the reports he must complete each month? It’s admirable.” Answered the apprentice after swallowing his food. He had discovered recently that his Master severely disliked administrative formalities. Obi-Wan had indeed never seen him as unhappy as when he had to write his account of their mission on Azerb II.

The noise of his shivering leaves filled the living-room. “You’re right. I shouldn’t make fun of him. The next time I see him in such distress I’ll carry a cup of strong black tea to his quarters.”

The young human drank a glass of water and returned to the topic. “A Togruta Padawan came to invite me for a meeting. Something about diversity? I didn’t understand everything. I just know that it’s tomorrow, in the evening.”

“A J.E.D.I. reunion, you mean? You finally received your invitation!”

Obi-Wan looked at his Master, confused about the whole thing. “You know about it, then?”

“I was a member when I was young. I thought you’ll be invited too. It’s an association regrouping some Padawans of all ages. Their common point is to have a Master vastly different from them –which is often the case in our lineage. My teacher was Yoda, so you can imagine that we had dissimilarities. Feemor went to the reunions, too. And Xanatos,” Master Qui-Gon bent his head a bit “–Xanatos thought he didn’t need them.”

“Well, if it’s a tradition, I’ll be happy to discover it!”

* * *

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi was a liar. He had said good-bye to his Master with a smile that had disappeared as soon as he has been alone into the corridor. Contrary to what he had told to his teacher, he was unusually stressed by this reunion.  
The young boy tried to use his journey to the room C-25 to understand this feeling.

He honestly hadn’t had many occasions to encounter people of his age since he had begun his apprenticeship. Garen and Bant didn’t count, as they were childhood friends. He only knew most of the Padawans in his classes from afar and talked to them about their lessons –nothing personal then. More than that, he had difficult relationships with other boys during his time at the Crèche; Bruck had bullied him for years, pushing him to act angrily and to be categorized as too emotional and irascible.

He was a bit scared that it could start again: the whispers behind his back, the Masters’ disapproving looks and the bullies’ satisfaction painted on their face… His teacher would be so disappointed.

He had to remember that he was not the same boy. He had been a Padawan for nearly a year, had already experienced stressful situations and was able to help the people counting on him. He wasn’t un-chosen anymore. He had already proved himself.

Obi-Wan breathed-in profoundly before the closed door. He tried to clear his mind and to calm his racing heart –come on, he had no rational reasons to be so scared! But maybe that was it – _no rational reasons_. Some fears were sometimes anchored within you, like a coal vein hidden beneath the earth, buried deeply, so deeply they seemed invisible until you struck it with your pickaxe.

“You’re new, too?” A very small girl was standing beside him. He hadn’t seen her coming, lost in his thoughts. Obi-Wan nodded and she answered with a determined voice. “Let’s enter together, then!”

The boy’s first reaction was to take in the small room. It seemed welcoming and convivial, with a few colourful cushions put on the floor. Three other apprentices were there already, talking informally. The Togruta he had encountered in the Archives looked at them and invited them to come closer with her right hand. “Come on, we were waiting for you!”

She sat down on a blue pillow. “Now, everyone is here. Take a seat.” When they were all settled she added: “Welcome to everyone. I’m Tesla Laam, the current president of the J.E.D.I., and I’m happy to see you again. Firstly, you must have seen it: we have new members. So, introductions are in order!

“The J.E.D.I., Jedi Educational Diversity Initiative gathers Padawans whose Masters are very different from them, for biological, anatomical or cultural reasons. It was thought as a free space to meet apprentices having issues similar to your own, to exchange advice or to express our interrogations. Do any older members have anything to add?”

His neighbour raised her hand. “Most Masters choose apprentices similar to them. There are also traditions: a Mirialan Jedi will opt for a Mirialan youngling –unless there isn’t one at the Crèche at the moment. We’re a small minority inside of the Temple. We often have different difficulties, predicaments the other Padawans won’t encounter or understand. This group is our chance to talk about it without been judged.”

“Thank you, Minastrina. Now, let’s talk a bit about ourselves. Well, I’m Padawan Tesla Laam –I’ve told it before. I’m nineteen and my teacher is Master Yaddle. She’s part of the Council so I have an apprenticeship adapted to this limitation –she doesn’t go often off-Temple. Sometimes I do missions with other Masters or Knights –that’s where I was three weeks ago.”

The girl to his left spoke next. Obi-Wan had difficulties to know where he should focus his gaze, as her oblong head was covered by a dozen of eyes. Her light brown skin was wrinkled and two curved antennas caressed her shoulders. Her iris caught his attention; they were grey, a bit like the pearls who were often found under the sea.

“I’m Minastrina, a fifteen years old female Vuvrian. I’m good at diplomacy. I, hum –currently don’t have a lightsaber as mine was eaten during my last assignment with my teacher, Master Claar. He’s a Wookie. So I’m working on a new prototype by drawing and studying lots of blueprints.”

“Eaten?” Curiosity drove Obi-Wan to talk. “What happened? –if you want to talk about it, of course.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” answered Minastrina, rubbing her neck, “But maybe it will help to break the ice! My Master and I encountered a Rathtar during our mission. You know, it’s this huge, slimy creature with red skin and sharp teeth –”

“Like Tesla, you mean?” Interrupted the only other male present in the room, a large humanoid covered by white fur.

“Ha, Ha. You’re so funny.” The Togruta’s dried humour made Obi-Wan smiled. “Please, continue Mina. I want to know more about your love affair with this Rathtar.”

“So, this enormous creature awoke and chose to eat us for breakfast. I wouldn’t have bet on it but it was very quick –which is strange as it didn’t have legs or anything like paws. It tried to capture us with its tentacles, opening its wide mouth. I had never seen anything like that: it was a gigantic hole without lips covered by a dozen of razor-like teeth’s rows.”

“What did you do, then?” The young boy shifted to stand on his knees, leaning toward his neighbour. He had always loved to hear about other Jedi’s missions. Especially if they included epic battles, beasts or lightsaber feats. “Did your Master tried something? Did he knew how to fight this monster?”

“Maybe he would have been able to cook-up an awesome plan –if I hadn’t panicked.” She looked at them as she tried to explain herself. “I’m good at diplomacy, and I love mechanics. Been able to pass all day pouring over old blueprints, inventing ways to upgrade our stuff: this is what I do and what I excel in. But put me on the field in a stressful situation and I’m lost.” The Vuvrian shrugged. “So I panicked and I throw at it what I had under my hand. That is, my lightsaber. That monstrous thing swallowed it and seemed very troubled. That worked to our advantage and we fled. You can’t imagine the incredulous looks my Master gave me when we were safe in our spaceship.” Then she turned toward Obi-Wan and the other new girl. “So you see, when you’ll be in a tight spot in a future mission, you’ll be able to find comfort in the idea that you won’t be able to ridicule yourself more than me.”

“That’s not true,” cheerfully added Tesla. “And I’m sure your new saber is going to be terrific, Mina. It’s your turn, pebble! I haven’t forgotten.” She finally said, looking right in his eyes.

The boy gave them a nervous smile. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn –the only Nyaman of the Order. I’ve been his apprentice for nearly a year and we’re often entangled into dangerous situations, on the field. I honestly don’t understand why; we seem to attract them. Otherwise, I like Ataru and I have a slightly force-sensitive plant in my care.”

“A Force-sensitive plant?” The Togruta seemed really intrigued by the idea. “Would you bring her to our reunion, one day? I would love to see her. It could be an interesting subject for researches…”

“I will.” Obi-Wan’s heart warmed a bit; she was already talking about the next encounters. Maybe he’ll fit in, with those Padawans.

“My name is Ciara Clan.” The small girl with dark hair seated to his right was the next to speak. “I’m twelve –my birthday was last month. My Master has chosen me young –which is often a problem during missions. For example, we had been sent on Ando to guard a royal heir which had been menaced heavily recently. Our first difficulty had been inevitable: the heir was a complete prick. The second had been just embarrassing: he refused to listen to my orders because I was ‘too small’!” Her features were frozen in outrage. Obi-Wan notices then that she had to be almost-human: the skin around her blue eyes was pale green with discrete scales. “Otherwise, I want to specialise in Jar’kai and my Master is a male Octeroid.”

Ciara must have understood the lack of recognition in his gaze. She rolled her eyes and precise her thoughts. “Octeroid: very tall, wearing a breathing apparatus as they originate from an aquatic world, with a large blue scaly head and one big yellow eye?”

_Ah. This one._

“Master Grewlcht?”

“Yes.” Octeroid Jedi were rarities, just like Nyaman’s ones. “One day I’ll learn how to be as intimidating as him. Even if, right now, it isn’t one of my skills.” Obi-Wan caught her burning gaze and any doubts he could have had vanished. This little spitfire would achieve whatever she wanted. And as Master Yoda said – _size matters not_.

“He’s an aquatic Jedi?” The last member of the club asked. The hairy humanoid bent his head a bit forward; his vocoder, covering the lower part of his face, permitted him to speak in Basic. “Does he needs a special environment? Or does he spend a certain number of hours at the Lake Level?”

Ciara seemed embarrassed when she answered. “The water on his world is salty, so the Lake Level can’t help him. He had quarters which diffused a salty mist before, but he switched for normal ones to welcome me. I don’t want to be a source of difficulties and I don’t know how to bring the subject on the table.”

“Maybe you could have a spray on you?” Suggested Obi-Wan. “I wear one for my Master, who need water filled with nutrients.”

“This could be an acceptable temporary solution,” agreed Minastrina. “I’m working on my saber first, but when I’ll be finished, I could help you to find a more sustainable answer. I know the problem caused by those ‘special quarters’. All the rooms are adapted; there’s no in-between, which is a difficulty when those Knights or Masters choose a Padawan with different needs. We could try to change only the atmosphere of your Master’s bedroom …”

The Vuvrian’s multiples eyes were already shining with all those possible modifications.

“I’m the last one, apparently,” chuckled the other male. “I’m Trenn Tas, a sixteen-years-old Gigoran apprentice. My Master’s quite young; she chose me only a few months after her knighting. Some old Masters were grinding their teeth but it didn’t stop her. She’s human-like, a Pantoran.” He stretched a very long arm toward Ciara. “And we have problems similar to yours! As I’m far taller and larger than her, I’m often confused for the Master –and her as my Padawan. This led to embarrassing situations –and one time to a fantastic infiltration mission.”

“What lightsaber form are you learning?” Asked Ciara.

“Soresu is my main form, focused on defence, but I do some Niman too, to deflect blaster shots.”

“With your athletic build, I would have thought you’ll have picked out a more offensive form.”

“My Master is specialised in Soresu and we found this form suits me quite well.”

“I had another question,” added Obi-Wan. “Does anyone know more about the origins of the J.E.D.I.? When was it created? Master Qui-Gon told me he had been a member of this group when he was a Padawan.”

“Well,” began Tesla, “I know most of Yoda’s Padawans were part of it: Cin Drallig, Kid-Adi-Mundi… That’s not very surprising as our Great-Master is unique inside of the Order.”

“Master Oppo Rancisis, which is older than Master Jinn by a few decades, was a well-known member too.” Explained Trenn. “So this club is, at least, one hundred and fifty years old.”

“That’s almost fossil-ancient,” whispered Ciara.

The president gave an unimpressed look to the youngest Padawan. “How old do you think is Master Yaddle?”

“Three hundred years old?” Suggested the Gigoran.

“Try to add three more hundreds of years!”

Ciara’s shocked face, eyes wide and mouth opened, made Obi-Wan laughed and he quickly found himself bent in half on his cushion, holding his belly. His eyes were crinkling in the corners and his smile could have lighted a lighthouse. 

* * *

When Obi-Wan opened the door leading to his quarters after the reunion, he saw his Master sitting on the couch, reading one of the books he kept in his room.

He must have been waiting for him.

“My Padawan! How did your first meeting go?”

The Nyaman’s stance was relaxed and attentive at the same time. His apprentice remembered the joy he had expressed when he had evoked his time in the club. As the only member of his species, he must had felt lonely sometimes, in the sacred halls of the Temple. The J.E.D.I. must have offered him company and a sense of belonging. So of course, he would have liked to share this life-changing experience with his Padawans.

One had accepted it, one had rejected it.

And in the middle of this, Obi-Wan’s first meeting had been a source of joy and hope. He felt as if these people could become his friends. He felt part of something bigger than himself.

So he gave one of his large smiles to the older Jedi and said most sincerely: “It was great –I loved it, Master. Really.”


	10. Warmongers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This chapter comes with a small warning; we'll be talking about war and its consequences, with not-very graphic acts of violence.  
> Take care of yourself!  
> And enjoy ;)

The spaceship’s engines hummed slightly. Obi-Wan was grateful for their noise, as the cockpit was otherwise terribly silent. Master Qui-Gon was piloting, his gaze lost between the stars. But the apprentice wasn’t misunderstanding his attitude as one of calm and concentration. His back was too straight, his stiff lianas hanging around him like a mourning veil or gripping tightly the handles.

Obi-Wan had always admired how lively his Master seemed to be. He bent and curved in the face of adversity, just like the reeds in his old Crechemaster’s tales. _The tall and hard tree, who fought against the wind, lost. He refused to bow and was uprooted. The reed was different. He was flexible, adaptable. When the wind roared and groaned, he twisted, bent and curved. He was still standing when the sun rose._

But something had changed, this time. Their new assignment was not simple, as it hit them close to their heart.

His Master seemed to become as hard as stone as his concern gained ground.

Master Yoda and Master Windu had summoned them early in the morning to give them an urgent rescue mission. A Jedi had been hurt and captured as she was negotiating a peace treaty between two factions leading a planet-wide civil war. The assignment would have been difficult even without an added hardship: the trapped Jedi was one of their friends.

Had this been a good decision? To entrust them with this mission knowing their friendship with the prisoner? Wouldn’t have another team of Jedi been more efficient, less prompt to be carried by their feelings?

Looking at his sculpture-like master, for the first time in fourteen years, Obi-Wan doubted the Council’s decision.

The Padawan bit his lips and switched on his comm. He had a message to send.

* * *

_Dear Bant,_

_I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you goodbye, but my Master and I had to leave for a mission very early this morning. Master Yoda asked us to find Master Tahl. The report he had received from her had been worrying. Apparently, she had been hurt, then captured by one of the factions fighting this war._

_Please, don’t worry about us or for her. We’re going to get her back and to bring her to you again._

_Melida/Daan won’t have our hides!_

_I’ll be as careful as I can,_

_Your friend,_

_Obi-Wan  
_

* * *

The planet on which they landed had seemed dusty and tired to Obi-Wan. Their guide, an old man with pale green eyes, was fidgety and kept looking behind him every few steps. The town who was revealing itself to their eyes was grey and ripped opened, the destroyed building left gutted. A red spot caught his gaze; it was the faded wallpaper of a living room, a filthy wooden chair with three legs leaning on it. Something must have partly destroyed the opposing wall and the room was left gaping, like an open mouth.

Obi-Wan had the strange sensation that they were going to be eaten by this broken city.

Their guide led them to an ancient warehouse, made of brown bricks and orange-corroded iron. One moment they were opening the heavy door and stepping inside their rendezvous point. Still hoping for a peaceful compromise. A minute later, they found themselves surrounded by an armed militia, blasters pointed toward them from all directions.

_Oh dear. And I had promised to Bant that I would try to stay safe…_

The grating voice of their leader explained their treason. The Melida, who wanted to win the civil war against the Daan and be recognised by the Senate as the legitimate owner of the lands, had already kidnapped Tahl, the peace emissary. And with two more Jedi as hostages, they could only be backed by the Temple, no?

That could not happen.

The apprentice switched on his hidden lightsaber only a few seconds after his Master’s green light pierced the dark atmosphere. He bent his knees to reflect more easily the blaster shots and moved a bit to his left. This way, he could stand behind his Master and guard his back.

Sweat began to moisten his palms as adrenaline, fear and tiredness became entangled inside him. His heart was beating fast, running like a tampered speeder. His blade sent back a plasma bolt toward one of his aggressors. The man screamed, gripping his stomach before he went down. Quickly, Obi-Wan realised than most of his adversaries were not in great shape. They were past middle age, with obvious old injuries: misshaped legs or arms, scars on their faces. Certainly former fighters hurt during the clashes between the Daan and the Melida. The Padawan tried to empty his mind and not to linger on the gasps of the wounded.

Master Qui-Gon slowly started to walk toward the door, Obi-Wan following him faithfully. He stayed focused on his adversaries until he left the building. They weren’t pursued, as the former soldiers hadn’t faired too well against them.

Obi-Wan kind of wished someone would come to help them soon. He thought some of the lesions caused by the shots were quite severe.

Then a small copper head appeared in front of them, body hidden behind a wooden barricade.

“Come here, Jedi! You can hide with us!”

The Padawan stared at the weary young face and pale green eyes.   
Every seemed haunted on this planet, even the other children’s gazes. 

* * *

The girl was called Cerasi. She was fifteen-years-old. And she was born a Melida.

“Melida or Daan, that’s just stupid!”

She lived underground with the Young, children and teenagers from the two factions, united to try to put a stop to this war.

“Most of the older people are either fighting, already maimed or dead. There’s nobody to take care of us. So we chose to stand up for ourselves and to improve to our best our living condition. Those buried rooms aren’t the most comfortable but they are safe and dry. That’s more than most of the remaining buildings.”

Qui-Gon bent forward to avoid hurting himself on the vault. The tunnels had been conceived by teenagers and even human adults would have difficulties to move easily inside of them. The Jedi could sense the fierce determination of their little guide, her courage and instinct of self-preservation. Their journey under the earth was rhythmed by the information they gave to each other.

Behind him, his Padawan was following his steps. Once again, this mission would put him in danger, plunge him into a war zone. Again and Again. As if the Force wanted to teach him something, to prepare him for something to come.

_Why? Why do you keep pushing this youngling into war? Can’t he keep a parcel of his innocence? Can’t you wait?_

The Force didn’t answer him.

He would have to fight for Tahl and his fire-child’s safety, then.

They finally arrived in a large subterranean room. A dozen of dirty-faced kids were already seated on the ground. They greet Cerasi and quickly became mute when Qui-Gon passed the threshold after her.

“They are Jedi. They’re here to find one of their own, who had been captured by the Melida.” Then she turned toward them. “Maybe you could introduce yourself. They may have some information.”

The Nyaman tried to rose his head and put a liana on his Padawan’s shoulder. “I’m Qui-Gon Jinn and this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi. We’re searching a friend of ours, a woman, with dark honey skin, long hair and stripped eyes. She came here a few days ago.” His low and firm voice made one of the boys jumped in surprise. Most of the children were staring at him rather openly. “We would be thankful if you had any clue about where she could be detained.”

He lowered his eyes when he felt something tug on his appendages. It was a small hand, attached to a girl with large blue eyes and brown skin. She had to be somewhere between five and seven years old. “Are you a plant?” She spoke with a high-pitched tone which reminded him of the tiny colourful birds living on his home-planet.

“Yes, I am” The other children looked at them, apparently wanting to find out more about him, as much as the little girl.

“How can you be a plant and speak? I’m never heard of a talking plant.” Her mouth was pinched. It seemed clear to him that she would grow into a stubborn human.

“I come from very far away; that’s why you haven’t heard about me.”

“How far away is that? My brother reads me books at night. They talk about trees and have images.” She squinted as if she believed he would doubt her words. “Images are important because there are not a lot of plants around due to the bombs.”

It was true that he hadn’t seen a lot of green since they had landed on this planet. “I come from the stars, young one.”

“So that’s why they couldn’t explain it.” She nodded, satisfied by his answer. “It’s too far away. And do you make flowers?”

His apprentice’s head quickly turned toward him at this question. _It was true that he had not yet talked about it with the boy._ “Sometimes, I do.”

Qui-Gon didn’t have it in his heart to ask her to stop tugging on his lianas, even if the sensation was a bit unpleasant. He let her play with them as a teenager with brown hair stood up at the back of the room. “I may have an idea about where she’s kept. But we would have to work together if you want to free her.”

“Nield! There you are!” Exclaimed Cerasi. “Come, sit with us.” She designed a spot beside her and gave them some explanations. “Nield coordinates most of our actions with me. He’s a Daan and he leads the Young with me.”

“We’re waiting for the opportune moment to deprive the adults of their weapons. We could stop the war if we seized and destroyed them! They’re normally kept in their headquarters, who also shelters the prisoners in the basement. It’s an occasion to lead a two-front attack. You could help us to enter the building without too many casualties and we’ll make a diversion –which would permit you to free your friend. It’s given and taken.”

A part of Qui-Gon was horrified to hear a teen talking so easily about casualties. The other, more practical part, could see the beginning of a plan appear.

Maybe they’ll be able to find Tahl and flee this planet rapidly, after all.

“We’ll need more field data –we didn’t have the time to find a lot of information before our arrival.”

Cerasi bit her lips. “You won’t be able to collect them yourself.” She told him frankly, “You’ll be immediately recognized. But with other clothes, Obi-Wan could be easily thought as one of us.”

If Qui-Gon could have done it, he would have grimaced. He wasn’t really fond of the idea of letting his apprentice travelled alone on a war-torn planet. But he also didn’t have any better plan.

They continued to elaborate on their scheme until late in the evening. The small girl had almost fallen asleep, using one of his larger lianas as a pillow. Before he left, he took the time to close his eyes and concentrate. He used the Force to manipulate his energy and concentrate it into a small vine. Slowly, slowly, a bud appeared. Then it bloomed into this dark hidden room. Qui-Gon detached it from his appendage and gave the small pink flower to the wide-eyes child.

Her large and moisty smile was worth a bit of tiredness. 

* * *

Obi-Wan stared at his reflection into the polished copper disc. The boy looking at him seemed different without the Jedi uniform. He appeared rougher, wilder and even a bit younger. The Padawan had slipped on the clothes lent by Cerasi: a dark red shirt with brown pants. It was wide around his waist and he had to fold his obi to use it as a belt; the Quartermaster at the Temple won’t be impressed with all the wrinkles this will leave.

“Seems alright?”

He hadn’t paid attention to the girl entering silently in the room.

“I think so. There’s no reason anybody would be able to identify me.”

“No,” she scoffed. “Most of the adults don’t even know us by sight.”

Obi-Wan let his gaze travel on the mirror one last time and stretched out his arm to touch its jagged rims. “There’s something beautiful in it.”

“A new life born from destruction. Beauty from scraps.” She shrugged, a small smile painted on her lips. “One of us made it, using a shell who had fallen in the area. It’s the embodiment of everything we’re trying to create here. A new planet, on the ruins left by the war. It will be complicated, but I’m confident it’s possible. We have the will and the energy to transform the destruction surrounding us into something better, something worthwhile.” Her voice was passionate, vibrating as she spoke. There was a power behind her words. If Obi-Wan wasn’t sure she was null, he would have suggested that she was slightly Force-sensitive.

In either case, she probably would have made an unstoppable senator.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. I’ll just say goodbye to my Master.”

The Nyaman was waiting for him into the corridor. Obi-Wan winced a bit when he saw him still bent forward; this couldn’t be good for him. The Jedi reassured him, squeezing lightly his shoulder with one of his lianas. “I don’t have a spine, so I’ll survive been fold in two for a few days. Think of Master Windu! Or your friend’s Octeroid Master. It would be far more difficult for them.”

“Master Windu won’t have liked this at all.” Answered Obi-Wan, his eyes crinkling in the corner.

“Maybe that’s why he gave us this mission.” Added the Nyaman. He retrieved the lightsaber hung to his belt and gave it to him. “Keep your lightsaber hidden on you; you may need it. Keep your eyes and your ears opened, too. I’ll be waiting for your report. Above all, be careful.”

“I will be!”

Obi-Wan gave a last look to his Master and began to follow Cerasi into the maze-like underground.   
They must have walked during half an hour before they arrived under a trap door. The girl looked over her shoulder and explained her plan to him: “This exit is one of the most discreet on the Melida territory. We should be able to visit the town from here.”

She climbed the ladder and gave a strong push to the metal trap. It slid to the side, letting them come out of hiding. Obi-Wan inspired deeply, somehow reassured to be able to breathe fresh air after so many hours under the ground. His nose wrinkled –he had forgotten the streets stank. They had a distinguishable sulphuric and rusty tang.

“We can go to the Hall of Evidence; I think it would be a good place to begin. Then we will head toward the Melida’s headquarter.”

“The Hall of Evidence?”

“It’s a mausoleum. If you want to understand our history and life, you’ll have to go in there.”

They started to walk down the destroyed road. On another world, Obi-Wan might have preferred to step on the sidewalk. But the asphalt was so full of craters that no vehicle could have travelled on it.   
As they approached the historical city-centre, they saw more people in the street. None of them even looked toward Cerasi and he, as if been young made them unimportant.

The girl, who had seen his perturbed gaze, try to justify their attitude. “We’re kids to them. We don’t fight for them, we don’t work yet and we even cost resources. Clearly, they don’t see us as a priority.”

Obi-Wan felt strangely debased by their avoidance. Rationally, he knew it was currently working in his favour: if nobody was paying attention to him, he would be able to explore the district without putting himself to risk and could come back to his Master with a lot of data. But something hot was growing in his stomach. No one met his inquisitive eyes. Their gazes seemed to go through him. For the first time of his life, he felt small, superfluous. He had the impression that he was a parasite to these people, almost invisible. They had judged his worth and concluded he was worth nothing.

The Padawan swallowed his saliva and his throat hurt, tighten with his emotions. He couldn’t imagine bearing it every day. He admired even more Cerasi –to be so strong, so determined when facing such adversity. When people constantly tried to make you believe you were dust under their feet. It must build character, to fight for your own life and to try to give a sense to it since your childhood. He could understand now how she longed to take control over her life, and their fight seemed nobler to his eyes.

“Take a look at them; what do you notice –other than their avoidance?”

Obi-Wan listened to her question and observed the passers-by. An old man with a cane walked slowly to avoid the potholes. A woman with a skin so wrinkled that the apprentice couldn’t see her eyes trembled as she took her bin outside. She didn’t seem troubled by the fact that everybody could look into her living-room, as a large part of her wall was missing. Two former soldiers with white hair were proudly showing off their medals to each other. To his left, a child, no more than seven-years-old, opened a garbage truck to try to find something to eat.

Rapidly, something appeared quite obvious.

“There’s not many middle-aged people. Maybe it’s just the area, but there are apparently far more elders.”

“It’s not just this district.” Cerasi’s voice sounded bleak. “There’s a lack of adults on the planet. Most of them fight against the other faction –and there are heavy casualties. Those who return alive aren’t the same. The elders represent those who survived under the fire.”

“And don’t they advertise for peace?”

“You would think that they would be more reasonable as they have seen these horrors closely. But it’s not the case! They’re often the most vocal about their hatred toward the other faction and encourage to continue this war.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You have to understand –their whole life orbited this conflict. They were raised hearing their parents cursed against the Daan –or in their even more significant absence if they were murdered by the Daan. Once they were of age, they ran towards weapons to obtain justice –for their families, their brothers or sisters. They built bombs and blasters. Or they killed and were offered rewards for it. Close friends died again. And when they were too old or injured to continue, they looked at their medals and empty home and thought: it was worth it! I helped to conquer this district! I killed so many of these animals –soon the soil will be cleaned and ours again! You see, there’s no reasoning with them. Not without establishing the balance of power in our favour.”

“That’s why you want to capture their weapon stock.”

“Yes. If they can’t fight each other as they did before, maybe we’ll have a chance to win them over. If they see another way of living exists, one without fear and blood…”

Obi-Wan turned toward her as they reached a large boulevard. “But how did you do it? You talk about this indoctrination of the inhabitants –how did you escape it?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe it wasn’t in my blood, living to hate. Maybe because, when I felt lost, I met Nield, who was a Daan orphan. We understood each other. We longed for the same thing –to live in peace, without dreading to lose a loved one again.” Then she pointed out a building on the other side of the street. “It’s here. It’s the Hall of Evidence.”

The monument she was designating was round. It was made of bleach concrete without many transparisteel windows. The entrance was monumental, accessible by two dozen of steps and framed with high cement columns.

They slowly climbed the stairs, reaching the ever-opened doors. “It’s always accessible, to remind us of our roots,” explained his guide.

The first thing Obi-Wan remarked as he entered the mausoleum was the lack of light. The windows, created small to reduce the risk of damages during a clash with the Daan, couldn’t brighten the place. They also contributed to the almost-religious ambience of the building. The shadows seemed to say: _This edifice is different from the rest of the town. Kneel and obey. This is sacred –you must respect it._  
Niches in the walls contained small items, exhibited like relics. The Padawan came nearer and realised that if some were personal items, as a small silver brooch, a broken ivory comb and a Tooka toy, most of them were holograms.

“Why are they so many holograms?” whispered the apprentice. He couldn’t imagine talking aloud in this monument.

“Because they carry the voices of the dead.” Cerasi nodded, encouraging him. “Activate one of them; you’ll understand.”

Obi-Wan grabbed a small black-and-silver device, switching it on. The small silhouette of a young man, who had to be in his twenties, appeared before him. His voice filled the empty room.

“If you listen to this message, I must be dead. Life is short around here, so I guess it isn’t really a surprise. This holo is especially destined to my little brother.” A second of pause, then the man continued, staring right in front of him. His face was hard, his eyebrows frowned and his lips pinched. “I will take part in an assault tomorrow –it’s risky but don’t ever forget that our cause is just. Our father and mother died with honours, fighting our hereditary enemies. I’m proud to follow their steps. The Daan’s presence on our territory is an insult to our ancestors and our martyrs. These animals plunder our soil, steal our resources, destroy our patrimony and murder the bravest of us. They don’t deserve to live. Like pests, they must be eradicated, and it will be your turn to do it after my death. I’m counting on you, Lucas. Bring us honour, avenge your family.” As if to attenuate his message, he gave a little small for his brother. Then he disappeared, returning to emptiness.

Obi-Wan staid mute, having troubles to put his feelings into words. The overwhelming violence of this dead man’s words was blood-curdling.

“… Did he fight, the younger brother?”

“Yes. He became a sniper. We buried him six months ago.”

There was a war currently on Melida/Daan, but it was so different from the one he had discovered on Azerb II. There were no rational reasons here to draw weapons. No fight against oppression, no strategical resources to protect at all costs. Just inhabitants tearing themselves apart, killing mothers and brothers or avenging them. An absurd hatred passed on from fathers to sons, fuelled by dead men’s words.

Nobody at the Temple prepared them for this.

“Do you know what started it? Why you hate the Daan?”

“No,” confessed Cerasi. “It began so long ago –four or five generations before us. We don’t remember why we started to loathe then.”

What could you say after such an admission?

“This is why this place is called the Hall of Evidence. We don’t remember why this conflict was born. But for some, it’s less important than the proofs of why it should continue.” The Melida girl seemed terribly sad at the moment. She was staring at one of the niches. “Most of the Young want to destroy those monuments –as it’s one of the things perpetuating this hatred. I’m not sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those mausoleums could be more than that. After all, it’s our only evidence that our loved one existed.” Cerasi finally stretched out her arm and switched on the hologram she was staring at. A tall woman appeared. Obi-Wan, however, couldn’t concentrate on her words as his guide continued to talk. “My mother died when I was young. I don’t have many memories of her. I know that she worked in factories, building weapons. I remember holding her large damaged hands –the chemicals used to created blasters wasn’t good for the workers’ health and made her skin turned yellow. She coughed, too, late in the evening.” The girl turned her head toward the Padawan. “If they destroy this monument, I won’t ever be able to see her face again. It’s a heavy price to pay.”

The two children staid in the mausoleum in silence, until Cerasi gave him a pale smile. “Let’s go; we still have to examine the headquarters. We won’t be able to enter but you’ll see their defences and the access points. That’s the most important to begin to draw our plan.”

* * *

That night, Obi-Wan was grateful for the cramped space used as a sleeping room. He was able to change into his tunic and pressed himself against his Master –not because he wanted to, but due to the lack of space, _clearly_.

The Nyaman didn’t make any remark. He just stretched out one of his lianas and caressed his hair with slow and purposeful movements. “I’m proud of you, you did good work today. I know it mustn’t have been easy.”

“You often talk about our cultural differences,” said Obi-Wan. “But I hadn’t thought my vision of the world could be so different from other humans’ perceptions.”

“Maybe there’s a lesson to learn here.”

“Maybe. But I’ll be frank with you, Master: if it’s a lesson, it’s a bitter one. I don’t understand how anyone could decide to let hatred guide his life.”

“I’m more than a hundred-years-old and I’ve never understood it, my Padawan.” His voice seemed tired.

Obi-Wan let go of his pretence and nested closer to his Master. He curled a bit on himself to fit between the larger of his lianas.

“I want to save Tahl, but I want to help the Young, too. They are the best chance this planet ever have to stop this conflict –from the inside on top of that!”

“Maybe we’ll be able to do it.” Answered softly the Nyaman. “For the moment, you have to get your beauty sleep. Close your eyes, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan smiled in the dark and let dreams carried him, safely enclosed between his Master’s leaves. 

* * *

The attack was launched the next day, during the sixteenth hour. Entering the headquarters wasn’t actually very difficult with two lightsabers, especially if the assault took the opponents by surprise.

A trickle of anger increased the strength behind Qui-Gon’s blows and he had to make an effort to tone them down when one of the men went brutally down. To have his objective within hand made him impatient. He was frustrated by his adversaries, who didn’t measure up to his fighting skills. He, therefore, guessed that formidable Tahl must have been quite tricked to be taken by them. Most certainly betrayed by her contact.

He tried to grip the Force tighter and to calm himself; he didn’t want to give his Padawan such a bad example.

After they conquered the commanding rooms, the Young and he split up. The Jedi let his gaze wandered one second on their small silhouettes disappearing down a dark corridor, their presence onto the battlefield making him somehow regretful. Then he turned toward his apprentice, who was also a young boy manipulating a weapon, and told him they had to find the basement. His insides hurt, cradled as they were within his tough bark.

Their journey downstairs seemed to last an eternity.

Qui-Gon heard the sound of his fire-boy’s lightsaber reflecting a plasma shot, then the mute noise of a body falling on the ground. He didn’t stop to look behind him, as he could feel his apprentice’s strong presence within the Force. The first three cells were empty, and the Jedi felt a hint of despair as he saw that only one remained to inspect. Maybe Tahl wasn’t kept here. Maybe they’ll have to continue their research elsewhere –while she could be hurt by her captors…

But the last cell wasn’t unoccupied. The Nyaman sprinted forward, using the Force to snap the old and useless padlock.

A woman was lying on the floor, her long dark hair spread around her head like an oil slick. Her wrists were bloody and her tunic was ripped near her left shoulder.

_Tahl._

Qui-Gon hurried to her side, trying to notice if an injury was threatening her life. The Force only made him remarked that she was severely lacking water and nutrients. Her wounds were sufficient to blur her mind, without being deadly.

He felt his apprentice kneeling beside him as he started to shift gently his friend’s body. The movement must have wake her because she opened her eyes and gripped one of his lianas tightly in her hand.

“Qui-Gon..?”

The Jedi Master could have screamed. _Her eyes! Her beautiful eyes! Stripped like a snake, shining like the strange reptiles of his home planet._

_What would she do without her eyes?_

Their orbs were milky now as they still tried to stare at him one more time.

_Not her, not his dearest friend!  
Tahl, Feemor, Xanatos… Were all his loved ones destined to be traitors or to be betrayed? _

Qui-Gon had found Tahl alive; he should be glad of it, at least. But all he could feel was the intense grief slowly sucking the sap out of him.

* * *

Master Qui-Gon walked so quickly toward the ship that Obi-Wan had to use the Force to keep up with him.

“Master, wait!”

He sprinted one more time, reaching the Nyaman.

“Master, please! Where are you going?”

The adult seemed so buried in his mind that he didn’t hear him. Finally, the Padawan grasped one of the appendages carrying Master Uvain to catch his attention.

“Master!”

The Jedi turned toward him and said briskly: “We have to hurry and go back to the Temple. Maybe the healers would be able to help her.”

The apprentice looked at his Master, feeling lost. Even he could feel in the Force that nothing would heal this injury.

“We can’t leave yet, Master! We can still finish Master Uvain’s mission! The council sent her on Melida/Daan to negotiate a peace treaty and now the Young have all the factions’ weapons! It’s an unexpected chance. We have to seize it!” Seeing his Master’s hesitation, he went for the kill. “She would have wanted us to continue her mission.”

The Nyaman’s face shut down and Obi-Wan’s heart stung as if a splinter had stabbed it. He hadn’t seen this expression on the Jedi’s face since Bandomeer.

“We’re going to leave this planet right now, my apprentice. Climb into the ship.”

His Master tried to walk past him and Obi-Wan panicked. He didn’t want to go against his teacher’s order, but the Jedi didn’t seem totally rational, too preoccupied with his friend’s state. He could feel in the Force that their role wasn’t finished here.   
So he tried to find a solution, his mind rolling furiously between his worry for Master Uvain, who had been by his side when he needed it the most, his concern for Bant – _please, don’t’ let her blame him! She deserved this apprenticeship so much!_ , his tiredness, the small voice of the Force trying to lead him and his fear for his hurt Master.

He couldn’t see a solution to calm his Master, to stop him and make him listen to his words.

He just panicked.  
He was only fourteen.

He brandished and switched on his lightsaber.

He could have as well stabbed his teacher in the back.   
Qui-Gon’s eyes were reduced to small black spots. He seemed suddenly menacing, standing tall in front of him.

“So you’re just like him, finally. You reject my teaching and draw you saber upon me.”

“That’s not what I want to do! Please, let’s discuss!”

“I should have known it. Traitor or betrayed, I see that you’ve made your choice. Step aside, Obi-Wan. I’m leaving this planet. And if you don’t come on this ship, I’m leaving without you. And you’ll be quitting the Order.”

Obi-Wan staid still, transfixed by fear, on the tarmac. He heard the engines waking up and saw the ship getting off the ground, reaching for the invisible stars.

His Master had left.

He sat on the ground and remained there alone for a long time.


	11. A Mouthful of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope for everyone that May will be better than April! X)  
> Thank you again for commenting; it means the world to me.
> 
> This chapter has a 'canon-typical violence' tag, too. It's war and it's ugly.
> 
> Enjoy!

Qui-Gon’s mind was closed as he landed on the Temple’s platform. He switched off the ion engines, who kept turning slowly to cool down before the ship was docked. After the control panel was powered down, he rose and went to the passenger cabin to retrieve his precious load.

As the Master Jedi left the starfighter, he concentrated all this attention on a few things. First, he kept staring at the floor, to put his feet one before the other and avoid stumbling –which would be a bad idea for his charge, as he hadn’t slept since that night into the tiny room underground, lying against _– Stop! Don’t think about it._

He hadn’t tried to look at his friend yet, not since he climbed onto the ship. He didn’t want to face her again –not when she would have been incensed by his decisions. _She would have wanted him to finish her mission-_

Most of all, he didn’t look behind him. He ignored to his best the void who seemed to grow around him and the intense ache spreading its roots inside him. Standing in the Temple, his dearest friend in his arms, Qui-Gon had rarely felt more alone. _Except, maybe, after Xanatos’ treason. But recently he had this little fire who had been following him –where was he?_

The absence by his side seemed alive, like a gigantic black hole waiting to absorb him.

The Nyaman continued to move forwards. He knew the path toward the Hall of Healing by heart, as he had often taken it after his assignments. Maybe the other Jedi who saw him in the corridors stared at his bent and troubled silhouette, but he didn’t remark it.

He felt lost.

A healer took charge of the situation as soon as he walked past the white door of the Medical Corps. He let the physicians seize the body – _Tahl’s body!_ And sat down on a chair, as if the threads who had been moving him had suddenly been cut.

Qui-Gon wouldn’t have been able to tell how much time passed by until someone else tried to catch his attention –his mind was slower than usual, sluggish as if it was trying to avoid traps and walls and holes now spanning his brain. As if some thoughts were dangerous for him now.

But suddenly Mace’s face appeared in front of him.

“Qui-Gon? We weren’t waiting for you yet. Did you have any difficulties? Did anyone get hurt?”

His forehead was wrinkled.

“Tahl is injured.” The Nyaman’s voice sounded strange, even to him. Flat and dull.

“I see; that was to be expected. Her dire situation had been clear in her report.” Mace looked at him carefully, as if waiting for a signal.

“She might never see again.”

This time, the human didn’t answer. Qui-Gon could feel the contained grief coming from him –the man always had been sensitive to the other Jedi’s fates, taking each death or life-changing situation hard. The Master remembered him as a child –he had been an emotional boy, who had flourished under his teacher’s wings.  
He had understood his weakness, which had criticized often in his presence, _This child is too sensitive –he would never make a good Jedi!,_ and transformed it into a strength. Now, here he was, one of the youngest Council members, a great warrior and negotiator, the only Jedi to use the form VII in combat –also dubbed the ferocity form.

“Where is your small shadow? He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

The Nyaman didn’t know what to say. He felt numb, as if under anesthetic.

“Qui-Gon?” Repeated Mace Windu. “Where is your Padawan?”  
His face was statue-like, unsmiling mouth carved in stone.

“I left him.” He waited a moment and added, as if to clear himself of all wrongdoing, “He wasn’t hurt.”

He could have as well announced the return of the Sith.

“You left him? Where? On the ship?”

The enormity of his choice tried to hit him but he ducked his head under the sand. There, he was safe for a moment. “No. I left him on the planet.”

An incredulous silence wrapped itself around them. “You left your Padawan on Melida/Daan? Your fourteen-years-old apprentice, for which you are in charge, on a planet known for its long-lasting civil war?”

“He drew his saber against me.”

Mace sighed and sat beside him. “What happened?”

“We found Tahl in the Melida’s headquarters. She was badly hurt; we had to come back to the Temple. Obi-Wan refused. He wanted to stay. He said we still had things to accomplish here. He pulled out and switched on his lightsaber.” Qui-Gon insisted on this last sentence, the more important one according to him.

_How could he have done that? How could have Obi-Wan betrayed him?  
Qui-Gon could still see the lightsaber coming to life in front of him, feel the vibrations of the blade near his lianas. What had been the colour of the blade –green or blue? And the human in front of him –had he been small or tall? Was he his autumn-head boy or had his hair been dark? He couldn’t remember. His memories were twisting and merging together._

“Your apprentice’s many things, but he’s not Xanatos.” Mace rubbed his hands on his bare head. “I understand that we’ve made an error –we should never have given you this mission. You’re too involved. The Council should have seen it –should have seen that you weren’t ready. We have to take the blame for this. But let’s be clear: you kriffed up, Qui-Gon.”

The human looked at him in the eyes. He seemed tired too, as if he had aged a lot.

“Tomorrow, I’ll ask you more questions to understand the situation as clearly as possible; you’re not in a rational state of mind at the moment. In the meantime, we’re going to keep tabs on you apprentice and we’ll try to repatriate him quickly.” The Nyaman opened his mouth to add something but Mace continued without listening to him. “As he’s not a Senior Padawan, the Order’s in charge of him. If his act means what you understood, if he rejects your teaching and wants to leave the Order, then he will have to appear before the Council to explain his decision. If not… Then a clarification would be needed and excuses will be expected. In any case, you’ll be required to see a mind-healer –I’ll makes sure the Council ratify this order.”

“A mind-healer?” This word made him finally react. “Why would I need a mind-healer?”

The dark gaze Mace gave him was firm yet filled with pity and compassion. “You need to deal with your issues, Qui-Gon and faster will be the best.”

A Twi’Leki healer came out of the room to their right and walked toward them.  
“Masters. I have some news.”

Mace nodded, waiting to hear them.

“Master Tahl Uvain is stable. Her life isn’t in danger. We’ve tried to evaluate the damages caused to her eyes and it seems very improbable that she will recover her eyesight.” He paused and look at them, “I’m very sorry.”

Qui-Gon’s limbs seemed petrified. _It’s not possible-_

“We’ll keep her under sedation to give her water and nutrients tomorrow; then we’ll begin the withdrawal to wake her. You can go back to your quarters. We’ll keep you informed if there’s a development.”

The Council member inclined his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Knight Se.”

“Do you want me to warn anybody else?”

“I’m going to talk to Padawan Eerin myself.”

“You can tell her to come during the visiting hour tomorrow, between the tenth and sixteenth hour.”

_Bant –Padawan Eerin. Obi-Wan’s friend._ Qui-Gon had forgotten that she had started her apprenticeship under Tahl’s wings. She hadn’t been able to come to this mission because it had been judged too dangerous for a child who was still an initiate a month ago.

Mace Windu turned toward him, a pale smile on his lips. “Go back home, Qui-Gon. You asked me once to take care of your Padawan and I promised to do it –against your will if need be. That’s what I’m going to do, from now on.”

* * *

_There’s no life on this planet._

At midday, when the star Uur shone the most, the air grew hot and it became unpleasant to be outside. The sunrays hit the asphalt, warming the ground who seemed to become a very effective cooktop. The unsavoury odour of the street rose, then, perfuming the city with the smell of unclosed bins and urine.

Every reasonable being chose therefor to stay inside when midday arrived –inhabitants went back to their home, fighters to the headquarters and teenagers into their underground hiding place.

Their situation hadn’t changed a lot since the weapons had been stolen with Qui-Gon’s help. The adults were not ready to stop fighting –the act was still engraved into their veins and they had not been convinced by the offer of a more peaceful way of living. So one war led to another –Melida against Daan became the Elders against the Young. Feeling menaced by the new raising faction, the hereditary enemies had finally decided to unite their Force against them.

What an irony.

Sometimes, Obi-Wan went outside anyway. He made the most of this hour and tried to breathe the unpleasant air, finally alone, away from the buzzing underground. That was when he realised it.  
When the streets were emptied, when everybody was hiding home, no life appeared in the deserted city. No stray dog, no hedgehog nor womp rat. No wildflower or moss were growing on the ruins either, no ivy.

The planet seemed dead.

At these moments, Obi-Wan remembered his Master’s odour, his green leaves, Alana and the multiple plants they kept in their quarters.

_Was Qui-Gon watering Alana enough? And did he talked to her? She’ll become sad and mournful if she’s ignored more than three days._

Obi-Wan, who wasn’t a Jedi anymore, nor a Young yet, thought about all of this. And he feared that the hole inside his chest might swallow him whole.

* * *

“Come on, quicker! Put him on the plank. I can’t do anything if he’s not lying down properly.”

Small feet hit noisily the ground as they hurried through the tunnels. There’s a stench of iron and blood underground, this night.

“Put him there! Obi-Wan, take the healing bag out of its hidden place. You! Tell me what happened!”

The two teenagers who had carried the hurt boy inside the room looked at the self-proclaimed medic. Their eyes were wide-opened, lost.

“The Elders were using their airspeeders, firing in the streets! Edric was caught under a falling wall. We came as soon as possible.”

“That’s a good reflex.” The healer crouched down near the injured boy. He quickly began to do a check-up, trying to assert his wounds. Then he added without turning his head: “We’re going to see what we can do. Please, wait outside; the room’s not large enough for us all.”  
The two boys were pale but they didn’t contest his words.

The teen addressed the former Jedi and the two leaders of the Young. “I’m going to need your assistance. Nield, help me to remove his pants. His leg injury seems to be the worst. Obi-Wan, give me the scissors; they must be in the front pocket.”

Obi-Wan obeyed quickly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Behind him, he could hear the gasps of the wounded Young and the empty reassurances of Cerasi. His digits touched the cold metal and he held them out for the healer.  
The teenager cut the fabric around the thigh and frowned when he saw the wound.

“It’s not good, isn’t it?” asked slowly Cerasi.

The medic didn’t answer and continued to free the injury. Obi-Wan could see the maimed leg over his shoulder, bone broken, shards biting the muscle and making the blood flow. The healer’s hands were already red.

The boy bit his lips and moved his head a bit backward. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do anything.” His voice was wavering. He seemed young suddenly, something Obi-Wan had forgotten when he had seen his self-confidence. “He’s losing too much blood. And we don’t have the equipment necessary to save his leg.”

“Then we don’t save it.” Nield’s tone was blunt, shaking them out of their panicked inaction. “Can we just stop the blood flow?”

“We could try to use something as a tourniquet.” The medic inspired deeply, regaining some control over his doubts. “Obi-Wan, give me a long strip of cloth.”

The teenager’s fingers didn’t tremble as he tied the home-made bandage around the middle of the wounded thigh. He seemed to have the situation in hands. The yellow cloth with clouds patterns created a strange contrast with the severity of the injury. The healer tightened the tourniquet when suddenly, their patient’s torso rose and the boy started to scream.

“Oh, stars! Oh, stars! He woke up!”

“Kriff!”

“Please, made him shut up!”

Obi-Wan tried to ignore the howls filling the room. “Do you have anything to anesthetize him?”

“We don’t, not anymore! We’ve been lacking medical supplies since last year!” Explained Cerasi, her voice filled fear.

“But we have to do something; otherwise his heart will fail. He won’t bear medical treatment of this scale without been desensitized.” Added the medic.

“Maybe-” Nield started to rummage in the bag. “Maybe we could use this.”

He showed them a small glass bottle full of brown powder.

“You want to give him spice?” Shoot Obi-Wan. “It’s a terrible idea! Seriously, it’s a highly addictive substance; you don’t want to give him an addiction to deal with in addition to this war and his injuries.”

“But we don’t have anything else. We don’t have a choice.” The healer gave him an unhappy smile. “At least, he’ll be alive to deal with those complications.”

Obi-Wan didn’t clearly remember what happened next. He had impressions –of fear, hushed words and gazed eyes.

“That’s it, that’s it. He’s under.”

But nothing was good, really.

The tourniquet wasn’t tight enough and blood continued to run down the medic’s arms, covering his wrists and his elbows.

“We could try to cauterize the wound. It should put a stop the blood loss.”

“But do you have anything to do it?” Asked sarcastically Nield.

Obi-Wan had his saber.

The odour was terrible. It had been a week and a half since Qui-Gon had left him here and from that moment he hadn’t eaten his fill. The flesh burned and it scented like cook meat.

Saliva pooled into Obi-Wan’s mouth and he left the room to throw up on the floor.

* * *

The addiction wasn’t a problem.

The boy had died on the plank used as an operating table.

* * *

“Thank you, everyone, for coming here! Today, we’re going to talk about the new war and how to fight the Elders. I want to leave this room with a decent strategy!” Cerasi, standing upon an empty ammunition wooden box, looked at the older children and teenagers gathered in the large room.

“A bit less than two weeks ago, a joined attack permitted us to seize the majority of the weapons possessed by the Melida and the Daan. But the raid wasn’t enough; the Elders chose to combine their force against us. Without many blaster riffles or slugthrowers left, they opted to fight us with their T-47 airspeeders. They have five of these ships, equipped with two laser cannons. They are low-altitude models, made to fight in the atmosphere –not in space. The fact is, that we’re not equipped to oppose a real resistance to these weapons. So we must take them out of the equation. Do any of you want to suggest ideas?”

“Do they have any known weakness?” Asked a red-hair teenager, seated at the back.

“They’re quite old,” remarked Nield. “That means they need more maintenance and more fuel than newer models. They are not heavily shielded, too.”

“Maybe that’s why the attacks don’t last very long… Do we know where the airspeeders are kept the rest of the time?” Inquired a girl with a long nose and dark hair.

“They stay in the spaceport,” answered Cerasi. “I asked Obi-Wan and Uhata to gather more information about this place. Do you have interesting intel?”

“I found something useful,” added the former Jedi. “All the ships are refuelled at the same time –for practical reasons. That means their defence are at their lowest during this hour. It’s our best chance to strike and disable the airspeeders.”

“That’s a formidable new!” Cerasi’s smile was wide –something Obi-Wan hadn’t seen since last week. The apparition of the T-47 models had lent a heavy blow on her hope for a more peaceful life.

“How could we enter into the spaceport? If they see us approaching, they’ll ask for reinforcement and we’ll be dead in a matter of hours.”

“I may have an idea for that!” Offered gleefully a young man. “I know everything about our underground network, as I was chosen to assure its maintenance. And there is a tunnel not very far away from the spaceport. If you give me a few more workers, we could enlarge and prolong it!”

“Nobody’ll be expecting for us to appear so close to the hangar!”

The rest of the reunion was spent organizing the strike. Obi-Wan would take part in the commando, with Nield, Cerasi and Roenni. The preparations could have empowered him, but the former apprentice only felt tired. It was true that he hadn’t slept well since his Master had left Melida/Daan, but most of his fatigue was caused by the situation. He was weary, dispirited –to be fair, Obi-Wan longed for his home.

He longed for the gardens inhabited by meditating wise Masters and chattering agitated Padawans, for Bant’s salty smell and their laughs at the lake level, for Alana’s sweet song, for Feemor’s patience and mother-henning tendencies. For Qui-Gon’s presence by his side.

His status inside the Young was complicated. He was considered as one of their leaders, with Cerasi and Nield. He was offered some measure of respect for his actions –he hadn’t been here for long and yet, his choices had shaped the movement. But at the same time, nobody forgot that he wasn’t born here. That his family’s blood hadn’t permeated the earth. That he was a stranger from the stars.

A large teenager with dark eyebrows pushed him from behind as he left the room. Apparently, he was looking for a fight and chose to start with him.

“So, lover-boy? Ready to dirty your hands a bit more?” If he was hoping to provoke a violent reaction, he didn’t achieve it. Obi-Wan’s hands didn’t felt soiled or anything. He didn’t regret his actions and his decisions. He was here, anyways. Remorse wouldn’t help nor save him. _And if he hadn’t switched on his lightsaber since their sad attempt at saving a life a few days ago, well. Nobody had to know it._

“I’ve heard that you’ll be commanding the assault against the spaceport. So obviously, sleeping your way to the top is still possible! Are Cerasi’s thigh as sweet as it’s told?”

Obi-Wan almost tripped on his feet. _What was wrong with this guy?!_ He was fourteen, for Force’s sake! He hadn’t even reached the age of consent –a subject tackled by a member of the Medical Corps with every new generation of Padawans in their first year of apprenticeship. Their assignments could indeed lead them to planets who hadn’t ratified the Galactic Republic Convention on the Rights of the Child and they had to know how to protect themselves.

His innuendoes were just vulgar and unjustified. Obi-Wan felt a lot of things toward Cerasi, but he wasn’t in love with her. He admired her strength, her determination and her incredible ability to dream of a better world –as well as her capacity to make those dreams reality.

None of this was akin to a lover’s love.

And who had time for that anyway? They had to live, first! To win this war, then to heal the earth and the inhabitants.

Obi-Wan gave a gaze full of pity to the trouble-seeker teenager and walked past him. He had thought about what he wanted, after the end of the conflict. Even if he revered Cerasi, he couldn’t imagine staying on this bared planet. He wanted to find a ship and to try his chance on Coruscant –maybe the Order will accept him again within their rank.

* * *

The fight was long and hard, but a few days later the spaceport was shining like a beacon, a column of flames celebrating the cease-fire.  
The Young and Obi-Wan had won.

.

.

.

Does every victory feel so bittersweet, so terrible?

The Young were disintegrating. Nield and a few other overzealous teenagers were running wild and disobeying the new Council. They found in the Hall of Evidence a symbol of hatred, an accumulation of bad memories and chose to destroy them, against the interim government’s opinion.

Cerasi hurried on the ruins of her mother’s cenotaph, Obi-Wan by her side.

_Things went so quickly_ , the former Padawan would say afterwards. _I never had the chance to see it coming._

A plasma blast emerged from a roof, surged through the air and touched Cerasi.

Touched. What a euphemism.

This is the reality: her body curved, buck in the air and sagged in his arms. Her soft green eyes were wide open as she tried to speak. Obi-Wan would have liked to be the depositary of her last words –and he would have obeyed them. If in her last breath, she had asked him to stay and to take care of her planet, he would have done it.

She never said anything.

She just vomited a mouthful of blood on his tunic and died.

* * *

A war led to a war that led to a third different war.

Maybe he wasn’t made for this. What he felt seemed wrong, strange, as if he had lost something on this infertile planet.

Maybe his Master. Maybe more than that, something intrinsic. Something with a taste of innocence.

Standing before the shell-made mirror, Obi-Wan smoothed his longer hair and erase each wrinkle from his formal clothes. He wanted to be immaculate today.

He had an important call to make.


	12. The Last Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of our Melida/Daan mission.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

His quarters were peaceful this morning. The sunrays were gently entering the living-room and caressing his large leaves. Beside him, Alana stood straight on a stool which helped her to enjoy more easily Coruscant Prime’s gifts.   
Qui-Gon thought he was slowly finding his center again –a miracle he knew has been possible thanks to his mind healer. Seeing the Dresselian woman was often difficult, as they were unearthing unpleasant memories, but he found peace in each element of solution.

A relative peace that intertwined with restlessness, as his Padawan was always out there.

His departure from Melida/Daan stayed a blurred moment in his mind. He still didn’t understand what could have led Obi-Wan to draw his saber against him. But leaving him behind had clearly been an impulsive and unreasonable act that he regretted.

Regrets. With Feemor, whom he had treated unjustly, with Xanatos, whom he had failed, as he didn’t succeed in raising him to be a good man, with Tahl who he couldn’t rescue in time when she had so often saved him in the past and now with Obi-Wan.

Regrets seemed to be one of his specialities

He had to wait, now, for news delivered by Mace, for the chance to see the child again. In the meantime, he concentrated on his recovery –he owed to Obi-Wan to be better when he’ll see him again.

A knock on the door snapped Qui-Gon out of his head. He recognized easily the imprint of the Jedi waiting before his door.

“You can enter, Master Yoda.”

The very small humanoid waddled toward him, his cane hitting the ground at regular intervals. The sound had a soothing effect on his nerves, reminding him of his own apprenticeship.

“Good morning to you, Qui-Gon.” The croaky voice echoing in the room made him shift toward his guest.

“And to you, my Master.”

“Feeling good you do, this morning?”

“Better than last week.” Chose to say the Nyaman. Telling he was feeling good would probably be an exaggeration.

“Consulted Master Hung, I heard you did.”

“Mace came early in my quarters and accompanied me to his office; I think he wanted to be sure I would not ‘forget’ my appointment.” His friend had stared at him aggressively as he had taken his time to bath his roots in his tea and had almost moaned when Qui-Gon had realised he had forgotten where his belt was.

Master Yoda laughed. “Always ingenious, Master Windu is!” Then he climbed on the high couch and sat on a cushion. “News of my Grand-Padawan, I have.”

A thousand questions fought in his mind and Qui-Gon tried to choose the most important one. “Is he in good health?”

“Heard of injuries, I have not. Finished, the civil war between the Melida and the Daan is. By the Young, a new government has been created.”

Qui-Gon let his gaze travelled down the wall. “… He finished Tahl’s mission.” His dearest friend’s welcome had been lukewarm at best. She had thanked him for his help in the Hall of Healing, then stood statue-like when he had tried to explain his decisions. Her disapproval of his attitude toward his Padawan had been glaring. As always, her anger had been cold as frost. Her veiled eyes had stared at him accusingly as he tried to make clumsy apologies and her crisp voice had accompanied him on his way out.

She had been honestly grateful for his assistance, but she couldn’t caution some of his actions. As the precious ally she was, she made him understood he risked too many things in the name of their friendship –and his Padawan was one thing he should never have jeopardized.

“Ratified, the constitution had not been. Help, Obi-Wan need. Send a message to the Council he did, as an elected representative of the planet. For a Jedi presence he asked, as the peace fragile seems to be. Send someone we will.”

Qui-Gon’s liana curved inward. “Do you think I could go on Melida/Daan again? I have a wayward apprentice to help.”

“A great idea, it would be. But going alone, you would not be!”

* * *

“I did not think Yoda meant it that way. I thought I would have a comm and, I don’t know, use it to do regular reports to the Council? Or to talk to my mind healer twice a week?”

“No, I’ve come to babysat you,” answered Mace, settling down on a seat beside his own. “Did you verify the pre-flight checklist?”

“Twice, already. I’ve been very meticulous since our ship died on us on Rodia.” Qui-Gon gave him a sideways glance. “You know, this old model who crashed into the swamps. Very undignified. Can you imagine the consequences it could have had on our mission with the ambassador? The Order’s image would have been shattered. ‘Those poor Jedi, who don’t even have flyable ships! We should give them charity!’-”

“If it could give us more funds…,” mumbled Mace.

“-As a Council member, you could do something about it!” He finished, dangling one of his lianas before his friend’s face.

“For the moment, switch on the engines. Sooner we’ll arrive on this planet, the better it will be.”

Qui-Gon retracted the landing legs, the ion motors’ power increasing as he planned their route. He seized the stick with one of his largest appendages and guided them in the sky to join the edge of the atmosphere.

“Ready to enter hyperspace.”

The Nyaman activated the hyperdrive and space around them compressed.

A second later, they were disappearing through the stars. 

* * *

The planet looked the same.

Qui-Gon had left Melida/Daan two weeks ago and the streets didn’t seem changed. This was reassuring –the Jedi would have been worried if it hadn’t been the case, if the town had been even more torn down during his absence, but it still gave him a strange impression. As if he had stepped back in time. Obi-Wan would stand behind him, eyebrows frowned so seriously. He was a very earnest child, eager to please.  
The Nyaman turned around, almost expecting his presence and saw instead Mace’s watchful face as he discovered the damaged city.

Disappointment made his sap turn bitter. Qui-Gon looked away and refused to dwell on those thoughts.

“Did you choose a meeting place?”

“Not really,” answered the Nyaman. “Obi-Wan should join us where our ship has landed. The air traffic is minimal, so he would have seen us arrived.”

A well-known presence approached indeed a few minutes later. His Master could have recognized this imprint in the Force eyes closed, anywhere, in every situation.

The former Padawan appeared finally half a klick away, emerging from a nearby street. Qui-Gon took the time to look at him as the child move closer to them. The first adjective that came to his mind was tired. His fire-boy had clearly made an effort to look presentable and he was as pristine as he could hope to be, knowing that he stayed here without extra clothes. Obi-Wan had always love to look neat; he kept his Padawan braid well-plaited, his leather boots polished and his clothes –when he wore them- without a crease.

His Jedi Order-made tunic was clean and the spotless brown pants he had put on must have been borrowed. They were a bit large around his knobby knees. 

More troubling were his eyes. Large coal veins had appeared under them. _He must not have been sleeping well_ , the Nyaman noted. They were also creased with worry and sadness.

This last observation hurt him as surely as a vibroknife embedded in his bark. 

Qui-Gon didn’t really know how to feel about his former Padawan; his emotions were very confusing. He was grateful that he hadn’t been physically injured, distressed by his visible weariness, relieved to finally see him after these long weeks, upset by their rather violent separation, _pained that knowing what he did about his past Obi-Wan still chose to draw his weapon against him_ …

They would have time to talk about this later. The priority was to help his former Padawan.

“Obi-Wan,” saluted Mace. “It’s good to see you unhurt. How are you?”

“Things hadn’t been easy these last days,” answered his worn-out ember-boy with a tight smile. “I’m happy to see you there. Master Windu. Master Jinn.” The child bowed his head toward them.

Qui-Gon’s lianas tingled with the need to touch his shoulder. But not knowing if the gesture would be welcomed, he opted finally for a small wave with one of his smaller appendages. 

“We shouldn’t stay here; the area can become dangerous quickly,” explained Obi-Wan. “I can take us to a safer place to talk.”

“We’ll follow you,” agreed Mace.

The lean boy guided them down the boulevard and led them out of the historical center, into a former industrial district. Tall rusty warehouses were established near smaller hangars with low flat roofs. His water receptor swelled, making his lianas quivered; the Nyaman could sense a large body of seawater nearby.

The former Padawan finally stopped and turned toward them. “I’m sorry, but the city center concentrates a lot of tensions lately.”

“What happened? I thought things were getting better on the planet since your mission with Master Jinn.”

“The Young seized the weapons of the two factions successfully when we attacked the headquarters, didn’t they?” Added Qui-Gon.

“Yes, but the conflict didn’t stop there.” Obi-Wan sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, messing them up a bit. “The Daan and the Melida finally decided to unit themselves, only to organise the fight against the younger generation –symbolized by the Young. As they didn’t have blasters or slugthrowers any longer, they used their airspeeders to attack us.”

_Airspeeders? Against children?  
In what kind of situation had he left his boy?_

The dark look on Mace’s face told him he must to be thinking the same thing.

“The situation got better for a moment once we managed to blow up their spaceport. The Elders –that’s how we call their coalition- accepted to surrender and let us organized an interim government, with the support of the Middle Generation.”

His former Padawan seemed to have difficulties to continue. Qui-Gon saw him clenched his fists, digging his nails into the soft skin of his palms and tried to help him.

“What happened next?” He asked softly.

“Cerasi died.”

_Oh._

“She was one of the founders and leaders of the Young,” specified Obi-Wan to Mace.

Qui-Gon saw his grief-veiled eyes and realised the two of them had lost something precious on this planet. Force knew they were very different, but at this moment he had the impression of standing in front of a mirror, seeing his badly hidden pain on his boy’s face. He remembered watching his fire-head child trailing after the teenager, listening attentively to her explanations and opinions. He had found something special inside her and his light eyes had shone when she talked about her dream of a peaceful world.

When he had found himself in a really dark place, on his second night after his return, Qui-Gon had wondered if he had lost his promising Padawan to a young girl breathing for rebellion on an insignificant dirtball. If his apprentice had preferred his crush to his Master.   
Once morning had come, he had berated himself for having such graceless and bitter thoughts. He had been terribly embarrassed by his reflections, feeling quite hypocritical –after all, hadn’t he favoured Tahl to his own Padawan? Hadn’t he preferred to left with her without listening to him?

It didn’t matter anymore, now.

He only felt pain for his apprentice’s friend fate.

“Cerasi was murdered when she tried to enforce some of the laws we had voted. It never should have happened.” Obi-Wan shook his head, looking distressed.

“Violence against a new political regime isn’t rare, you know-” Began Qui-Gon, trying to comfort him.

“It never should have happened,” repeated his boy, his anguish even more visible. His lips were pale and bitten, the dark circle around his eyes accentuated by the position of Uur, high in the sky. “We drew new laws and in consequence, every weapon had been seized. As the head of the security squad, my job was to be sure nobody would be armed!” Obi-Wan inspired profoundly and breathed-out. He seemed to shrivel up like a sick leaf, curling a bit on himself. “But something happened and she was shot down. It wreaked our attempts to maintain peace. Everybody became distrustful and the conflict could be reborn any time, now.”

“If Cerasi’s death had been the trigger, we should investigate her death. Finding who killed her, and to serve what purpose could help to restore trust between the different factions,” suggested Mace.

“That’s a good place to start,” agreed Obi-Wan. He blinked a few time to push his emotions away and to try to center himself. “Thank you again for coming here, Masters.” He added, bowing low in front of them.

Qui-Gon couldn’t stand this formality anymore. He walked forward swiftly and used his lianas to make him stand straight again. Then, they coiled up around his shoulders and pressed him softly against his tall silhouette.

He was still a bit confused by his former apprentice’s acts after their assault against the fighter’s headquarters. He was still a bit hurt.  
But the lightsaber who had been brandished before him hadn’t been green. He had been blue. And the boy who had stood against him had been small and fire-haired, not tall and dark.   
It had been Obi-Wan, not Xanatos.

Whatever had happened that day, it wasn’t enough to let him dismiss or ignore his boy’s sorrow. 

* * *

Mace Windu had seen a lot of things in his life.

His Master, the female Mirialan Cyslin Myr, had been a very religious Jedi. Her body and face had been covered by the black tattoos her species added to celebrate their achievements. Every morning, when Coruscant Prime rose above the city and every night when it hid to sleep behind the buildings, she would come near the window and meditate. He had been an eager and emotional boy then and had found in her habits a time to think about his feelings and his goals. She would sit beside him, her knees bumping against his, in a light tunic and loose-feeling pants, without her tabards. Her soft voice would guide him, help him to release his frustration or his anger. She would teach him how to feel the first sunrays of the star, to use this energy created by the Force to clear his path and thoughts for the day. At dusk, she would tell him to wrap himself into the night’s mantle, to let it calm his unrest and powerful emotions.

His Master had been quietly passionate by traditions: her people’s customs as well as the Jedi’s ones. She has introduced him to the old beliefs and ceremonies of the Order, has taught him the ancient philosopher’s works and encouraged him to seek wisdom among the retired Jedi. He had therefore spent long hours in their company, hearing them talking about their experiences as he served them tea.

But to love traditions didn’t mean to be blind by them. If Master Myr had followed to the letter the customs of her species, she wouldn’t have taken him as her apprentice. She would have chosen another Mirialan.  
Knowing it, she still decided to take him as her Padawan, to teach him the Way. To him, the emotional boy who made his Crèchemaster fur’s turn grey.

It was one of the best and most significant gifts she could have given him.

His apprenticeship had been both traditional and unique. Master Myr had indeed been a great swordswoman who didn’t like to draw her lightsaber and an enthusiastic historian. Their missions had often led them on archaeological sites with the ExploCorp’s cooperation –they had once secured an exploration on Ossus threaten by the overly aggressive local fauna, or chasing criminals through space and hostile words.

The fact was, that Mace Windu wasn’t unfamiliar with precarious living conditions, dirt, sickness and poverty. He had seen plenty of them during his apprenticeship or his time as a Knight –contrary to some Jedi Consular who weren’t often on the field.

But the situation on Melida/Daan struck him all the same.

Maybe because the people seated on the floor, pale and tired, were children. Their thin faces turned toward Jedi Masters as they walked through the underground galleries and their large eyes glowed in the shadowy-light. Mace watched them and thought of the Initiates and Padawans he had sworn to train and protect once as a Knight and a second time as a Council member. It was not a constructive reflection, so he breathed profoundly and let it go carefully in the Force, like a kite set free on Haruun Kal’s beaches.

“The situation really didn’t improve since I last came here. I would even say these corridors are getting gloomier,” said Qui-Gon in a low voice.

“They seem to lack everything: hygiene products, food, clean water, medical supplies…” Mace sighed. He had spent one hour with the other Master applying first aid, helping the kids with minor injuries who couldn’t consult the only medic of the capital city. This had been a unique occasion to question the younglings, to have fresh information and to hear the gossips. “The living conditions are worst than what the previous reports had declared. It’s not just a planet caught into a long conflict; the inhabitants are also facing a food and health crisis. Lending a hand to end the war and sign a new constitution won’t be enough. All the industries unnecessary to the war effort had been stopped during decencies. They will have to rebuild their economy from scraps. They need humanitarian aid to survive more than a few months after the cease-fire.”

“The teenagers talked about one factory producing cereal bars –at least they have a source of food. Cereals are good for humans, no?” Added the Nyaman.

“Yes, they are. But humans are omnivorous and can’t live only on cereal bars.” Qui-Gon made a strange gesture with his lianas, twisting two of his thinnest appendages around him. Mace wondered how many bars Obi-Wan had to eat during his short apprenticeship. What a brave boy. “We need fruits and vegetables for example. Living without them will lead to nutritional deficiency. Do you remember the small girl who had sprained her ankle? Her hair was thin and patched.”

“Yes, she had seemed in very bad health,” articulate slowly Qui-Gon, staring at his bald head. Mace almost rolled his head upward. He had forgotten than hairs were so important to the Jedi.

“That’s a sign she lacks some vitamins and minerals –and had been for some time. But nutritional deficiency can have more dangerous consequences, including poor bone growth, abnormal heart rhythm or damages to the nervous system.”

His companion plunged into a contemplative silence.

“We need to investigate this young teenager’s death and to stop the conflict first.” Mace turned toward Qui-Gon, talking softly not to be heard by the chatting children in the next room. “Then I will contact the Council to offer humanitarian aid and organize it with the new government.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I may suggest Master Bannistr’s name; she’s specialized in this kind of emergency relief and her Padawan’s nearly ready to be knighted.”

“For the moment,” concluded the Nyaman, “we should head toward the hangar mentioned by the teens; I think we may find clues about the arms dealings there.”

Mace nodded in agreement. Let’s not count the Fambaas before they hatched. 

* * *

The truth, once it had been discovered, left a bad taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth.

Conflicts created opportunities for people, occasions to rise, to grow rich or to lead. Conflicts left some individuals power-hungry, letting them taste it to better bewitch them and create an addiction.   
Some persons might be more sensitive to it: intelligent but neglected ones, for example.

That was the story of Mawat: a bright boy, ignored by his war-torn family, who couldn’t learn from teachers as they didn’t exist on the planet anymore. If he had grown on Alderaan, he would have become a bright engineer, leading researches on new ion engines who would have lowered the freighters and medical frigates’ costs. They would have been used during the Clone Wars, equipping the AA-9 Coruscant freighters transporting refugees off-planet. He would also have cultivated a parcel of grapes during his paid leave, selling a high-quality alderaanian wine enjoyed by Count Dooku.

But Mawat was born on Melida/Daan, so he had to glean knowledge from defective datapads and satisfy himself with it. Someone noticed his cleverness –an older teenager who died when the airspeeders attacked. He put him in charge of the underground galleries. Mawat used his intelligence to dug new tunnels with strategic interests and create hiding places near conflictual areas. People obeyed to his orders and made his vision reality.

So he hungered.

When the war seemed to come to an end, he feared for his position. What would happen to him if society became peaceful again? He had never known peace and was therefore scared by it. _It was better to deal with the devil you knew._

With his usual resourcefulness, he created a network and improvise himself arms trafficker, rearming all the different factions: kids fearing for their security, revengeful Melida and bitter Elders.

That was the thing with intelligent but neglected people. You underestimate then; you underestimate their ambition, their need for recognition and their capacities.

Mawat could have saved thousands of lives improving ion engines on Alderaan. Instead, on Melida/Daan, he killed Cerasi and rekindled the war’s embers by selling weapons to the wrong persons.

What a waste.

Now Obi-Wan was standing in front of another Hall of Evidence, booby-trapped by Nield and his partisans. Mawat was here too, a blaster pistol in hand, and the former Jedi didn’t see any other issue for this conflict than another confrontation.

Maybe he had lost a bit of his faith, here.

That is until the very recognizable silhouette of his Qui-Gon Jinn appeared a few buildings away. He wasn’t alone; Master Windu stood by his side. But more than that, he held in his lianas Cerasi’s heart.

Daan or Melida, Elders or Young, everyone knew the importance of holograms. They hold the memories of their love ones, the resentment of generations of inhabitants and the History of their people –because the electronic archives had long since vanished. They could hate them or praise them. But they always took time to listen to them either way.

Cerasi’s words echoed in the large street, reverberating on the walls of the fragile Hall of Evidence. She pleaded for peace, for justice and for a better future. Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself; he smiled. It was her best speech so far, one that could really have gained her votes in the Senate Chamber. She would have made such a good senator. In her hands, Melida/Daan’s future could have been brighter.

But this time had passed, and Obi-Wan tilted his head toward the sky. He would have liked for Uur to be hidden by the clouds and for the rain to pour down on the earth. The raindrops would have travelled down his face and mixed with his tears, who would have stayed hidden, as one last secret shared only between Cerasi and him. 

* * *

[He saw the hologram and he remembered.

It was late, the day had been hard and their lives seemed more fragile with each spent moment. Cerasi had invited him in her room –a gesture that fed the rumours. But he didn’t care about them. Sometimes, after long hours of work, she would go to a calmer place and unwind in his company. It could have seen trivial, but Cerasi was a soldier of a new kind, and she never relaxed.   
They sat on the floor not to dirty her bed and talked like old friends, like gossips, heads close and hands giving life to their story.

Some were happy: his childhood in the Crèche, her jokes with Nield when she was eight and full of energy. Some weren’t.

Finally, she rested her shoulders on the wall behind her and told him about their planet’s custom concerning battles. Tomorrow, they would attack the Elders’ spaceport. They had planned everything ahead, but the situation could still take a bad turn. They had to leave something behind, in case they weren’t coming back.

She took two holograms out of her bag. Cerasi explained she would record another message, her last one been clearly outdated. Then she looked at him in the eyes and held one out for him. She asked quietly: “Do you want to record something, too? I’ll make sure it will come into the recipient’s possession, I promise.”

Obi-Wan thought of Qui-Gon, of his former Master and all these untold words.

He took the hologram.]

* * *

This long day ended with a shining Uur, tears on his face and Qui-Gon’s lianas wrapped tight around him.

Obi-Wan felt haggard afterwards, as the peace treaty was signed and the Jedi’s help planned.

He left this cursed planet two days later, Master Bannistr and her Padawan already on the way toward Melida/Daan. He climbed into the red spaceship older, maybe also a little wiser, six pounds lighter and with a hologram in his pocket that he had recovered from his beddings.

The message was outdated, as he had survived his journey on Melida/Daan. But he couldn’t find the will to erase it now. It would be like wiping out his experience with the Young –his successes, his defeats and his friends.

Obi-Wan pocketed him again. Master Windu was waiting for him in the small infirmary, to assess his wounds.

He would have time to think about it later. 


	13. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a good week! The quarantine is slowly ending in France and the sun is coming back.   
> Here is another chapter -the longest I've written I think!
> 
> May you enjoy those many reunions -bittersweet and happy.

Before they landed on Coruscant, Mace Windu took the time to explain his situation to Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon decided to stay in the cockpit, fiddling the temperature regulation’s controls. He heard faintly the Jedi Master telling the boy that as a minor, he was still under the Order’s protection. He wasn’t quite a Padawan but he was still a Jedi, at least until he came before the Council to explain his decision to leave the Order.

Qui-Gon tried not to worry too much. His ember boy’s reactions on Melida/Daan made him believe he would choose to stay in the Temple –to stay his Padawan. So maybe he still had an apprentice. He hoped next weeks would provide occasions to explain what happened and mend their relationship.

The Jedi Master activated the small button on his left. The compact freighter deployed its landing legs above the Temple’s landing platform and touched down. 

Qui-Gon didn’t really know what he expected. He thought vaguely that he would thank Mace and lead his fire-head boy back toward their quarters. They would have had the night to talk and put words on their feelings –something that was still difficult for him but seemed necessary considering these last weeks.

But the Temple’s main entrance wasn’t empty when they arrived. A Jedi was waiting for them, standing straight as if his spine was made of steel.  
He recognized him rapidly as this silhouette was well-known to him.

It was Feemor Att’Kla.

The Knight walked toward them as soon as they crossed the heavy doors’ threshold. A simple glance was enough to realise he was highly unhappy. The fur covering his head was messy and the tunics he was wearing were made of a simple dark brown fabric, without his usual embroideries.

“Master Windu, Master Jinn.” He saluted them briskly. Then he turned his head to look his brother-Padawan in the eyes. “Obi-Wan. I’m really happy to see you safe and sane. You seem a bit thin. Have you lost some weight?”

“Maybe a little.” His fire-head boy’s voice was hesitant –he apparently didn’t feel comfortable enough to carry on an important conversation in the middle of the Temple’s main entrance. _Which actually wasn’t very strange when you thought about it._

“Well, I’ll feed you, then. I’ve bought fishes this week –I could cook one for you.”

Qui-Gon felt slightly alarmed by these words as if he could see his admittedly rather vague plan for tonight melting down. “Maybe tomorrow. We could eat lunch together in your quarters.”

Feemor’s answering smile could have frozen his sap. “If you think I’m going to eat with you tomorrow you’re delusional. Let’s try not to cause a scene in public.” The Knight stared again at Obi-Wan as he continued. “I know you haven’t had the time to talk to the Council yet. So if you want, you can come with me to my rooms. You’ll be able to wash and eat something warm. If you need it, we’ll speak of your mission. If not, I’ve seen a rather scandalous exhibition at the end of my last assignment –I’m sure you’ll find it entertaining.”

Then his eyes rose to meet Qui-Gon’s. “I’m sure your Master won’t be disappointed with you if you decide to stay a bit with me. I’ve missed you very much and he already had many occasions to be with you, unlike me.”

_Touché._ Responding to this without sounding petty would be difficult.

Obi-Wan finally solved his dilemma for him.

“I’ll come with you tonight, Knight Feemor. But I need to get some clothes back from my bedroom beforehand.”

“No problem! I’ll accompany you.”

Feemor brushed past Qui-Gon and whispered to him, eyes crisp cold: “You may have been my Master, but I don’t feel a lot of respect toward you right now.”

The Knight put a hand on his fire-head child’s shoulder and led him away, toward the imposing stairs.

* * *

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and tilted his head backwards. The hot water ran down his hair and his cheeks, falling on the bathroom floor with a loud noise. _Showers_ , he decided, _were definitely his favourite thing in the world._ The Young only used sonics, accessible by an underground tunnel leading to the deserted gymnasium. However, sonics clearly weren’t worth much compared to the sensation of the hot water pouring over his tired body.

The former apprentice turned off the showerhead and seize the soap bar left on the shelf, holding it beneath his nose. He recognized easily the frankincense essential oil’s fragrance. Passana was known for its small high-quality handmade production –and its astronomical price. If Feemor had a bar of soap with this aroma, the olibanum must have been distillate on Jedha – a more industrial but less pricy production. There was also a flowery undertone, something he had already scent in the Hall of a Thousand fountains. The boy found himself incapable of identifying it more precisely.

The soap lathered a lot –it must have been practical to wash Feemor’s fur but Obi-Wan had to rinse himself twice to be sure no foam remained hidden somewhere on his body.

When he found himself clean and dry, dressed with a soft tunic and loose pants, he opened the fresher’s door to join the mammalian Knight.

Feemor was sitting at the table in the living room, a troubled expression on his face. Obi-Wan stopped to stare at the feast spread out in front of him. There was indeed a cooked fish presented in the middle of the table. It was however surrounded by a dozen of fruits –red ones cultivated in greenhouses on Coruscant, green spiky or blue round ones imported from the Colonies’ worlds.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. Even famished, he wouldn’t be able to eat all of this.

“I only grilled the fish,” tried to explain his brother-Padawan. “Qui-Gon came when you were showering. He brought all the green things. Said something about nutritional deficiencies and how he wanted to be sure you wouldn’t lose your hair.”

“That’s –kind of him.”

“At least, he tried. Choose two of them; I’m going to store the others.”

Obi-Wan took two blue yumis and put them aside; their sharp taste would be pleasant after the main course.

Feemor came back from the kitchen corner with a raw red fish in hand. He sat on a chair and start to gnaw on it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you earlier, but I just came back from a mission,” he told him between two bites.

“It’s normal,” answered Obi-Wan weakly. “You said something about a scandalous exhibition earlier?”

“Yes! I was sent on Sullust for a diplomatic mission –an agreement which had to be ratified by powerful corporations to provide the Order with new ships and upgraded technologies.”

“The Temple’s ships aren’t given by the Senate?” This news surprised the former Padawan.

“It’s mostly not the case. Take an example: the SoroSuub Corporation gave us three new models of starships which hadn’t been commercialized yet. From every point of view, it’s a win-win. We obtain free resources –which are usually costly. They can test their new technology without paying testers, have free advertisements –as people will be seeing us flying in those ships and be on better terms with Republic worlds, who are major customers.”

“Alright, I understand. It must have been a calm mission, then,” he added carefully.

Feemor sighed dramatically. “To be honest, those are rather boring assignments. Somebody must be present. But you mostly stay on the planet during a week to hear them boast about their generosity and thank them a lot.”

“Don’t you need to talk about the ships in details?”

“Not really – engineers come back to Coruscant with the Jedi each time, to teach how to carry out the maintenance and to explain the ship’s particularities to the ExploCorps. This is why I ended up invited to the opening of the National Sullustan Museum’s new exhibition, in the company of the Corporation’s leaders and the royal family.”

“What happened, then?”

“Nothing until we reached the last room. There was a statue there, covered by a sheet. The curator waited for us to stand around it and wrench out the cloth. It was a real-sized representation of the unmarried princess lying nude on a sofa!”

“What?!” Cried out Obi-Wan, astonished. He had learnt his lessons concerning nudity. “Didn’t that create a diplomatic incident?”

“Almost! Her father turned red, spat his anger and her mother fainted. The quality controller couldn’t speak without stuttering. The most enjoyable reaction was the product manager’s one. He asked, wide-eyes, to the princess: ‘How could you sit narked before the sculptor?’” Feemor took a lower tone of voice to imitate the sullustan. “And she answered calmly: ‘Because his studio wasn’t cold.’”

Obi-Wan burst out laughing. It had been so long since he had laughed openly like that. He hadn’t realised he had missed it until now. This realisation slowly made his smile disappeared and he stared into his empty plate.

“I’ve not switched on my lightsaber since Melida/Daan.” He said abruptly. “Not even to maintain it or to train.”

“Is that a problem?” Asked Feemor, putting the last fish bones aside.

“Yes. I should have used it when we attacked the Elders spaceport. Or when I faced Mawat before the Hall of Evidence. And I didn’t. I chose instead to take a blaster and to use the Force. The other Young thought I was letting my life with the Jedi behind me –but it wasn’t true.”

“What is the truth, then?” Feemor seemed so calm, sitting on the other side of the table. His back was straight and he shone with soft and soothing emotions. Obi-Wan could see him becoming a Jedi Master, a pillar of contained strength and compassion. _His future apprentice would be lucky to spend his life by his side._

“The last time I used it, I tried to cauterize another boy’s leg. I failed. He died on a wooden plank.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Not at all. Maybe it’s worst –that I don’t have any other image of him. Only his wound and the pain. But the most terrible thing…”

“Yes?”

“The most terrible thing was the odour. It smelt like cooked meat. Sometimes, I wake up in the morning mouth full of bile with the impression that the smell is still in the air.”

When Obi-Wan found the courage to look at his brother-Padawan in the eyes, he saw shared pain, infinite sadness and affection. The Caamasi opened his arms and the younger boy stumbled as he got up and walked around the table to burry himself into the brown and grey fur. Strong limbs embraced him. Hidden between them, he could scent frankincense mixed with sweat as soft long hair caressed his moisten cheeks.

“Feemor! I feel like –like I’ve betrayed it! My crystal!” His words sounded wobbly and slurred but he felt like he would die if he didn’t tell everything right now. “It chose me as his carrier, it gave me hope when everything seemed lost and when I was sent on Bandomeer –what am I going to do, now? I can’t look at it! I can’t use it! It’s not its fault but I can’t love my lightsaber anymore!”

That was it. He had said it.

“It was your first lightsaber, wasn’t it?” Obi-Wan nodded against Feemor’s torso. “When Jedi grow, their weapon often change. Your saber –it was your childhood’s one. And you don’t feel like a child anymore, not after your last mission.” The Caamasi brushed his three-fingered hand through his hair. “You’re a teenager –you’ll need a new lightsaber to live your teenage angst with.”

Despite himself, the boy smiled through his tears. “If you want it, we can disassemble your lightsaber together. I’ll give you a pouch to keep your crystal safe –I’ve sewed a lot of models in my free time. Some have rather good flowery embroidery!” Obi-Wan didn’t doubt it. Feemor was talented -he had seen it with his ornate tunics. “You’ll be able to meditate again with your crystal if you do this.”

Obi-Wan’s heart was full of gratitude. He closed his eyes and let himself be lulled by his brother-Padawan’s soft voice.

* * *

“Your Padawan has fallen asleep. He was hungry, distressed and tired.”

“Thank you for updating me, and for been there for him.”

“Of course I’ll be here! I’m not like you.”

Silence.

“He ate the fruits.”

“That’s good.”

“You shouldn’t cook meat for him for a while, though.”

“… Do I want to know why?”

“He’ll probably tell you when he’s ready. Choose fishes instead, or dried sausages if you want to give him proteins.”

“I’m writing it down.”

“He wants to make a new lightsaber, too.”

“ –Right. I won’t make comments if I see him without his weapon, then.”

A sigh. “I want to scream but I know it’s not going to improve the situation. It’ll just wake Obi-Wan and he needs his sleep.”

“I didn’t want to do it, you know. I don’t remember everything that happened this day. Some memories are blurred. My mind-healer thinks they might stay that way. After Xanatos –I should have consulted someone. I waited too long. Ghosts I thought were vanished consumed me.”

“Xanatos’ discord seeds are always blooming, I see.”

“Sometimes, I have the impression he buried them so deeply I won’t ever be freed from him.”

“One day, you’ll be.”

Silence.

“Don’t misunderstand me; I think it’s great that you see a mind-healer. But you must be better now, Qui-Gon. For your Padawan.”

“I’m old and set in my ways. But I try, Feemor. Believe me, I try.”

“Don’t forget your own Master’s words.”

“Which ones? The old frog-dog is always talking.”

“That there is no try. Just be better, Master.”

* * *

One day, Obi-Wan would have to face Master Tahl. He knew it; he couldn’t avoid her forever. But this idea was so stressful he tried not to think about it at all. Because _when_ he’ll see her –not _if_ , he’ll also have to face his choices, good and bad.

Maybe he’ll have to stand straight as she explained her disappointment. Or maybe she’ll avoid him too –and wouldn’t that be the worst? She may not want to see him again.

Master Uvain, who had been so kind and had listened to his doubts and fears when his Master had been sick… She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. Not a bit.

Of course, as he tried his best not to think about Tahl, he ended barging into her as he turned left outside of Feemor’s quarters.

She raised his head, recognizing him, and whispered loudly: “Quick! Hide me!”

“What?” The surprise made him squeal.

“Quick!” She repeated, looking left and right, as she was watching out for something.

Half-trained instincts kicked-in and Obi-Wan opened the door next to them –Feemor had told him the maintenance closet was the one on his left, in case he needed something. He closed it behind them, heart beating fast in his chest as his eyes tried to adjust to the semi-obscurity.

A few seconds later, a whirring noise appeared gradually. The former Padawan tensed up; it reminded him slightly of the airspeeders’ hum when they flew over Melida/Daan’s capital city. All his muscles stiffened and breathing deeply became more difficult. This gut-feeling wasn’t rational –he knew he was deep inside the Temple. He could not hear the ships flying thought Coruscant. Unfortunately, this fact didn’t reassure him.

A hand touched his forearm and covered his right elbow gently. He inspired again, his head feeling funny. The moment passed.

The whir wasn’t a ship’s sound. It was a droid one.

The robot stayed in the corridor for a few minutes, during which Tahl and Obi-Wan remained religiously silent. Then it went away slowly, exploring the next hallway.

“Phew! I thought I was going to get caught! Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

The young teen didn’t know how to answer. Their reunion hadn’t taken the turn he expected. Thus he put his foot in his mouth.

“ –What was that?”

“My new personal navigation droid. Her nickname’s TooJay, by the way.”

His chest ached. The Order had given her a droid to help her in her everyday life and keep her autonomous. There was no hope for her eyesight to be restored, then. He had known it instinctively in the Melida’s headquarters but the truth was still difficult to bear.

“Master Uvain, I-I’m s-“

“Don’t ever say you’re sorry,” interrupted the Noorian. “You’re not to blame for what happened to me, not at all. I’m an adult. I’ve made my own decisions and they led me here.” Her voice became gentler but still rang truth. “Please, don’t speak to me like a youngling, like I can’t be responsible for my acts. I am. Nobody can nor should steal my ability to choose –even if sometimes I choose wrong. I’m still a Jedi Master –just a blind one.”

Her half-hearted joke made him smile; he stood straighter as if a weight had been lifted from his back.

“Why are you fleeing your navigation droid, then?” He finally asked more lightly.

“Because she’s a plague. She’s noisy, she takes a lot of space and doesn’t even do her job correctly. I feel like I’m guarded by an overprotective and inefficient Crèchemaster.”

Tahl sighed loudly. “Thank you again. I’m going to be able to join Bant into a dojo, now.” She squeezed his right shoulder and opened the door. At the last moment, the Jedi Master turned to face him. “I was happy to see you. Come to our quarters when you’ll have the time. Don’t be a stranger, Obi-Wan.”

* * *

The teenager chose to spend his afternoon in the Archives. He was meeting the Council at the nineteenth hour to talk about his mission and explain his gesture; he wanted to be as prepared as possible. Looking for additional information and proofs of the long-time conflict seemed a good idea.

A few seats were already occupied. To his right, Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was using a datapad with Jocasta Nu, the Chief Librarian. At the table behind them sat a Vuvrian Padawan. Obi-Wan came nearer; he hadn’t seen his friends for a while and would appreciate a well-known presence.

He saluted the Masters and faced his age-mate; it was indeed Minastrina, one of the members of the J.E.D.I. She looked troubled, her long antennas limp and brushing the white table. Half of her eyes were closed and the corners of her lips were turned down. 

“Minastrina?”

The Padawan’s head rose. “Obi-Wan? What are you doing here?”

“I’m searching for information about a planet,” explained vaguely the teenager. “And you? Are you okay? You seem a bit down.”

“It’s not very important,” answered bleakly the Vuvrian. “A Master told me something and I didn’t take it well.”

“Was it about your lightsaber?” He remembered hers had been eaten by a monster during a mission, a few weeks ago. She had been building a new model.

“Not really.” Minastrina sighed. “I worked with another Master during a mission recently. We returned yesterday and he praised my diplomacy skills. He even offered to give me lessons and real-life assignments to further my talent.”

“It seems to be a rather good proposal,” ventured Obi-Wan.

“Yes! But no! I mean, this would be a great offer for anybody else. But I don’t want to become a diplomat!” She looked very distressed by this idea. The apprentice tugged on her antennas with her thin and dextrous fingers. “My species is known for its diplomacy and negotiation ability. We’re very sensitive to our environment and highly observant,” she explained matter-of-factly. “But it’s not because I’m good at it that I like it! Nor that I want to do it all my life! I dislike diplomatic missions.”

This heartfelt cry blew Obi-Wan’s mind. He hadn’t yet been confronted with this situation. The Padawan was good in lightsaber combat –which was one of his favourite course and loved to learn about the systems’ history and culture –an asset in diplomacy.

“I find diplomacy boring and I’m terrified by field assignments. In truth, I want to be an engineer,” confessed Minastrina. “Mechanics are complicated, intriguing. I would like to work with the Order’s Corps, upgrading our equipment and imagining new tools. I could be a great Jedi Sentinel, mixing my mechanical skills with the use of the Force.”

“Did you explain it to your Master?”

“Not yet.” She gave him a crooked smile. “But to be honest, I think he already knows it.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled in the corner. His friend seemed more relaxed now she had told him what was weighing on her. An idea bloomed in his head and he looked into two of Minastrina’s numerous pupils.

“Would you be able to work on a 2JTJ’s droid? To modify it a bit?” Enquired the teenager, suddenly inspired.

“A personal navigation droid? Yes, I should be able to tinker with it.” Her antennas twitched on either side of her head. “Why do you ask this?”

“I know someone who would love to alter their TooJay.”

* * *

Qui-Gon stood at the doorstep of his fire-boy’s room. It was still empty –the child had disappeared and will probably stay hidden until the meeting with the Council tonight. The bed was made and the bedroom seemed pristine, excepted for a few filthy clothes folded on the chair –the ones he wore on Melida/Daan. 

Well. That was one thing he could do to help.

The Nyaman stepped into the room to take the outfits away. He could do a load of laundry this afternoon. This way, Obi-Wan will have clean uniforms tomorrow. As he had learned since he frequented people wearing clothes, Jedi were in charge of their own laundry. The Order didn’t believe in babysitting their members, so sonic-machines were available on each residential floor.

The Jedi Master gathered the garments and frowned when something fell on the floor. He recognized the round and small device; it was a hologram. Sadness engulfed him. He should have known Obi-Wan would have wanted to take a reminder of his time with his friend Cerasi.

He had stolen her last words.

It was a serious infraction, as the hologram should have stayed with the girl’s father. Qui-Gon pondered his act and decided to stay silent. If this object could help his fire-boy to say goodbye to her properly, he would not report it to the Council as he should have. After all, since when did he follow regulations to the letter? 

He caressed the power button with one of his thinnest lianas, thinking about her last speech in front of the Hall of Evidence. At fifteen, she had been daring and courageous, possessing a strength greater than many beings. When he had been the same age, Qui-Gon only thought of his stars and their kind sunrays. He had been a seedling, reaching for the sky, so small he had been afraid of the great river flowing near his birthplace. He had loved it, this tiny corner of moss where he had germinated, who became covered with flowers when the pollen-season began.

His life had been tender and simple, when was fifteen. Meanwhile, Cerasi fought for her idea and died for peace, spreading her lifeblood on his tiny ember boy had remained by her side.

Humans. They burned bright like distress rockets, high in the sky, dazzling everyone around them. They lived so fast, using all their sap rapidly, burning at both ends until they disappeared. Oh, and from how high did they fall, then. Qui-Gon was scared sometimes when he looked at Mace or Obi-Wan. He thought that if he closed his eyes for too long he may open them just to see them disappear.

Nyamans were a long-lived species. Some nights he realised what a curse it was when you lived among such transient beings. Yoda and Yaddle were the only one in the same situation as him. He often wondered if his Master had chosen him for this reason, in a moment of weakness, to be sure he’ll have a companion in the many years to come. Someone who would walk through the centuries with him.

Qui-Gon sighed. It was not the time for such dark considerations.   
He turned the hologram with his lianas and switched it on.

It was not Cerasi.

Surprise blinded in for a moment. His body froze as if turned to marble.

His autumn-head boy was facing him.

He seemed tired under the blue light. The tunic he was wearing had to be at least two sizes too small; the sleeves ended way before his wrists.

_Master Qui-Gon. I’ve recorded this holo with Cerasi’s help in case something happened to me. She promised me she would send it to you –and I know she’ll do anything to be sure you’ll get your lianas on it._

_Tomorrow, we’ll lead an assault on the Elders’ spaceport. It’s risky and I know I may not come back.  
_ His boy stayed silent a few seconds, his forehead frowned.

_I don’t want to let untold words between us. If Melida/Daan has told me one thing, it’s that I’ll leave more peacefully if I don’t have regrets. They create suffering in those who die and those who are left behind. That’s why the inhabitants use those holo –to let the dead speak one last time._

_Things are quite –terrible, here. We lack everything. Food, medicine, clean water. Even hope or civility sometimes. You’ll be outraged by the rumours going on about me._ Obi-Wan gave a small crooked smile. _  
There is no word to describe some of the things I’ve seen. I’m not even going to try. I’m not saying it to make you pity us –I’m telling you this because it’s not acceptable. Nobody should grow surrounded by so much violence. How can we, as sentient beings, let this happen? How can we let children die without help or dignity in the street with total indifference?_

_They deserve better –and we should be better than this. Especially us who swore as Jedi that we would protect those who can’t defend themselves._

_I never wanted to draw my saber against you. I never wanted to give you the impression that I was rejecting your teachings. To be honest – I just panicked._ Obi-Wan shrugged self-deprecatingly.   
_You taught me to listen to the Force before all and I knew I had to stay on this planet._

_So please, if you receive this message –tell Bant and Garen I’m sorry. Take care of Master Uvain. The cease-fire might not be signed yet –if it’s the case, I plead you: help the Young to make this planet safe for them again. It’s a noble goal and they are worth fighting for._

_Most of all, if you find it in you, I pray you’ll be able to forgive me one day. All I ever wanted was to be your apprentice. You gave me hope this day on Bandomeer. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this._

_I love you, Master Qui-Gon. Thank you._

The image disappeared and Qui-Gon was alone.

He was alone, and the hologram hadn’t been Cerasi’s. It had been his Padawan’s last words, the ones he would have heard had his fire-boy already been extinguished.

And would he have been able to survive if he had received it? Would he have been able to go on?

He wasn’t sure of it.

Qui-Gon’s lianas trembled when he put gently the hologram of the desk. He didn’t want to damage it. Dead men’s words were sacred –even for his species.

So many feelings were entangled inside him that he had difficulties to understand them all. He was terrified by the harsh realisation that he had almost lost his boy and would have been left unable to make amends. He was so proud of his independence and belief in the Force that his roots hurt. He was shaken by his child’s sadness, impressed by his courage and devotion –something that had already moved in on Bandomeer. He was scared and hopeful and-

He knew subconsciously that he was broadcasting his intense emotions through the Force. It wasn’t a bad thing however as it triggered a reaction from his apprentice. Their bond was still active if stimulated. Qui-Gon wrapped himself around his Padawan’s presence and called for him, enjoying his imprint in the Force. This hologram existed but his ember boy was still alive. He wasn’t in one of his nightmares; the young human would still be here when he opened his eyes.

A few minutes later he heard the door opening and soft steps coming toward him. His apprentice had felt his plea and he came.   
He approached slowly, as if a bit uncertain. Then he put one hand on his lianas, remarking the hologram on the desk.

Qui-Gon embraced tightly his boy, pressing him against his bark. His water receptors opened to feel the liquid flowing in his veins, one more proof of his presence and good health. If Obi-Wan was surprised he didn’t show it. His boy gripped his lianas hard and buried his head between his large leaves. Words flow as their minds brushed again each other, revealing their doubts and their fears.

“I’m sorry, I missed you so much Master! –”

“-I owe you many apologies, Obi-Wan. I didn’t understand.” Qui-Gon caressed the too-long hair. With any luck, he’ll have the opportunity to cut them soon. If the decision was his to take, Obi-Wan would remain many more years at his side. “I hope you’ll agree to take me back as your Master.”

“To take you back?” The turn of phrase made his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Of course I want to be your Padawan again!”

_I love you too, my apprentice,_ thought Qui-Gon as the late sunrays of the end of the afternoon caressed their skin and leaves.

They still had to meet the Council in an hour to explain their behaviour. Their wounds were not forgotten, nor miraculously healed.   
Qui-Gon knew however at this moment that they would be alright, in the end.


	14. A Petal for Your Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is a more joyful chapter; I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> I will slow done my updates for a little while to one chapter every two weeks because I'm also working on my contributions to a group project, the QuiObi ABO Week.  
> If you like this theme and want to know more about it, here is a Tumblr link: https://quiobi-omegaverse.tumblr.com/
> 
> I want to thank you again for your comments; they really encourage me to write and to try new things.  
> Enjoy!

“Padawan, the tea slowly you must pour. Preserved the aroma will be. Tastier for old tongues it will be!”

Obi-Wan concentrated and used the Force to stabilise the teapot. He turned toward the precious translucent cups adorned with little sea-green flowers and began to fill them with the infused liquid. The dark tea created different plays of light and colours with the recipients.

“Very good, very good young apprentice,” croaked Master Yoda. “Learning to make good tea a very useful skill is. Good for negotiation. Great for your old Master, too!”

Satisfied by the five full steaming teacups, Obi-Wan put the teapot down on the kitchen counter and sat on the blue cushion waiting for him on the ground. The other seats were occupied by four Jedi Masters whose main common feature was their old age. Yoda was on his right, on a high and comfortable stool. He had welcomed in his quarters Jocasta Nu, the elegant white hair Chief Archivist, the reptilian Tera Sinube and Council member Poli Dapatian.

The only woman in the room raised her teacup toward her nose, breathing in its surprisingly sweet scent.

“Felucia red tea. Very daring and tasteful. Are you trying to send me a message, Master Yoda?” She asked with a coy smile.

Obi-Wan chocked on his saliva. Stars, he didn’t want to hear that! This was his Grandmaster! And the Archivist he knew since he was a youngling. If he had to listen to this kind of –flirting? –he would leave. He might not have another chance to spend time with his Grandmaster. Too bad. This was way too awkward for him.

“Don’t listen to them,” advised Poli Dapatian. “They just enjoy keeping people on their toes.” The elderly man coughed for a moment then breathed harder in his respirator mask. The human Council member was older than most of his species, nearing his one hundred and tenth birthday. Age had taken a toll on his body who was becoming weaker as years passed by.

“Do you need anything?” Inquired the Padawan who listened to his hacking cough with concern.

“I would appreciate another cushion. Sitting straighter might help me to breathe easier.”

Obi-Wan stood up to reach the green one left near the window. He helped the old human to pin it behind his pelvis and restrained himself to stop fussing over him.

“Thank you; you’re a brave boy.” Master Dapatian expressed his gratitude, bowing his head which caused another coughing fit.

“You should stop moving. It’s bad for your health,” commented Tera Sinube, his dark eyes glowing with mirth. 

“I feel like everything’s bad for my health these days,” muttered the bald human.

“It’s in the natural order of things!” Added philosophically the reptilian Jedi. He seized his teacup with his four-fingered hand and took a sip, inclining his head to be sure the tea won’t slip from the corners of his beaked mouth.

“I didn’t have the chance to meet you before, Master Sinube,” began Obi-Wan. “What do you do in the Temple?”

“Ah!” The Causian laughed. “I don’t do much now! When I was younger and stronger, I served the Order as a Jedi investigator. Nowadays I mostly assist the Crèchemasters, stay with the Initiates and help the few lost Padawans I can find in the Archives.”

“Jedi investigator? I haven’t heard of those…”

“We used to be more numerous but now the exotic weapon specialists outnumber us. What a strange turn of fate!” His long tail ended by a turf of white hair curled beside him in amusement. “Jedi investigators are specialised in detective work. We study intimately the criminal underground and use this knowledge to solve or prevent crimes. Having access to the Force open a whole new world of possibilities to us: we can track easier some dangerous criminals through the Galaxy, find clues invisible to others or make leaps nobody would have thought of. It’s great work!”

“Do you miss it?” Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine stopping fieldwork.

“A little bit but not too much considering how I loved it! Young minds still come to me to seek answers and help. Sharing my knowledge gives me enough satisfaction for the moment!”

“About sharing knowledge –didn’t your last Padawan followed your footsteps?” Asked Jocasta Nu.

“Yes, young Zang Arraira has replaced me on the field. Being mostly Temple-based allows me to see more often. And she always tells me the sweetest and most adventurous tales! Even as a child, she loved a good story.”

Poli Dapatian shared a look with Obi-Wan. “Master Sinube’s words are quite misleading. Zang Arraira is a Jedi Master of her own now and is teaching her third Padawan. I’m sure she had grey hair the last time I saw her in the Council room.”

“For the Masters forever Padawans their students are,” added Yoda. “When small he was, stealing my tea Qui-Gon would. Used it for his roots he did! Find new hidden places I had to if drink a cup I hoped to. Once my black tea from Alderaan he snatched. A gift from the queen it was!” Then he grinned and added, eyes full of mischief: “As punishment, clean the Crèche during a month after his classes he had to!”

This idea mystified Obi-Wan. His Master was so dignified –most of the time. Could he have done something like that? Then he remembered his badly dissimulated joy to be proven right after disobeying the Council on Azerb II.

Yes, he absolutely could have stolen tea from his own Master.

“I’ve thought a lot about my place in the Order since my last stay in the Hall of Healing,” began Poli Dapatian. “I’ve reached a decision that I wanted to share with you. Dear friends, I think I’m going to retire.”

Absolute silence. Jocasta Nu stared at him over her teacup which seemed stuck above her lips. “You wish to retire?”

“I think it’s time to give my Council seat to a younger Master,” clarified the elderly human.

“But you’re an important voice inside of the Council! One of our last Jedi Seer. What will we do without your input?” The Chief Archivist seemed astounded by the news.

“You’ll be fine,” assured Poli Dapatian with a soft voice. “And I’m sure my successor will offer fresh perspectives to the Council. Nobody is indispensable, my friend.”

Jocasta Nu lowered her head, gently chastised by her fellow Jedi.

“Friends we may be, but forget the importance of the Order as a group we shouldn’t. Good Masters ready to be councillors there are. If retirement you seek, retired you’ll be.” Croaked Yoda. “Thinking about what you could do during your retirement instead we should!”

“I think I may spend more time than I would like into the Hall of Healing,” sighed the bald human. “They want me to do a routine check-up every month.”

“That may occupy one afternoon a month. Now you have to find hobbies to fill the twenty-nine other days,” cackled Master Sinube, not prone to pity others. Master Dapatian gave him an unimpressed look; Obi-Wan had, however, the strange impression he enjoyed his friend’s behaviour.

“Transmitting your knowledge too, you could. Right Master Nu was. Too few Jedi able to feel the will of the Force there is.”

“My Padawan preferred to dedicate their life to the Order as a Jedi Temple Guard. I would indeed have loved to teach them my way. However, how could I have prevented them to live as they wanted?”

The Padawan blinked in surprise. It was the first time he met someone actually known a Temple Guard. This reaction was probably a bit biased. The Battlemaster Cin Dralling knew them after all, as he led them. But that didn’t mean he knew them _personally_.  
The Temple Guard formed an elite of Jedi Knights whose main mission was the protection of the Order’s sacred ground. They wore a formal white and grey uniform, a mask and carried yellow lightsaber pikes. Those Jedi gave up their identity, their weapon and lineage to achieve their honourable duty.

They were a common sight in the Temple. As an Initiate, Obi-Wan had found them reassuring but a bit aloof.

“Maybe you should go to the Crèche and into the Archives; you could create vocations that way. Nobody really took the time to speak of Jedi Seer with us when I was there,” suggested the Padawan.

“A sound advice this is, young Kenobi,” agreed Yoda.

Obi-Wan ran his hand thought his short hair, a bit intimidated by his Grandmaster’s approval. He tugged lightly on his braid and enjoyed the feeling of his spiky haircut. His Master had cut it yesterday as he had promised. With each falling streak, he shed his doubts and enjoyed the possibility of a fresh start, the renewal of their vow.

He had also remarked something weird with his teacher on this occasion.

“Master Yoda,” inquired Obi-Wan with hesitation, “As Qui-Gon Jinn teacher, did you ever notice a –strangeness in his foliage?”

“A strangeness?”

“Leaves greener than usual? And maybe bud-like additions?”

“Ah!” Yoda snickered. “The first time you saw this it is?” The Padawan nodded. “Ready for interesting days you should be!”

He continued to laugh as he finished to drink his tea. Obi-Wan held back a sigh. _What has he gotten into again?_

* * *

_Hi Obi-Wan,_

_I’ve met Master Uvain as you suggested and we’ve talked about her 2JTJ model. It was a fruitful encounter. We agreed on a lot of modifications; I think it will be one of my best work so far!_

_I wanted to thank you for connecting us._

_Master Claar has been staring at all my blueprints; I think we need to have this conversation now. Wish me good luck!_

_Minastrina  
_

* * *

Yoda’s words about his Master were only a prelude. His leaves remained greener than usual and the buds-like additions multiplied.

Until the day Obi-Wan woke up to discover pink flowers in his fruit juice. The teenager blinked, thinking he definitely hadn’t slept enough that night. His teacher entered the living-room and the apprentice lost his ability to speak.

* * *

“My Master is blooming.”

The other members of the J.E.D.I stared at him in silence.

“What do you mean by blooming?” Asked slowly Ciara, the young almost-human Padawan.

“Exactly that. He’s covered with flowers. Hundreds of small flowers.”

Obi-Wan was thankful for this new reunion who came just at the right time. He looked at the baffled face of his companions: Ciara seemed sceptical and Trenn brushed absentmindedly his legs’ white fur, apparently intrigued.

“That is a major first in our club history,” finally said their president.

“What are they like? Was there any sign or did it just happen in one night?” Inquired the male Gigoran.

“There were round and green buds which appeared maybe a week ago? But I didn’t think they would bloom. To be honest, I even feared for a while my Master caught another strange plant-only disease. When I saw him this morning, there were hundreds of small pink flowers covering his whole body. Some of them even intertwined with his smaller creepers.”

“It must be quite beautiful,” commented thoughtfully the hairy humanoid.

The remark caught him flatfooted. “I was above all surprised. I first saw them in my glass when I was trying to wake-up, which was perturbing. Then I just stared a lot. But I think you’re right.” The young apprentice tugged on his braid, remembering the scene. “It’s majestic? Quite incredible to say the truth. The blossoms are small and very delicate. They’re bright pink with pale yellow stigmas. I’m sure I’ll bruise the petals if I touched them,” he finally added.

“Maybe Master Jinn has a season?” Suggested Minastrina. “I know humans don’t have any but numerous sentient and non-sentient species do.”

“By season you mean-?” Began Obi-Wan

“A reproductive or mating season.”

The human Padawan stared at her wide-eyes.

Tesla, their Togrutan president, threw her head back and roared with laughter.

“I’d forgotten how funny you humans could be!”

“You know my teacher’s a Wookie,” reminded Minastrina in a somewhat amused tone. “Master Claar has a mating season, at the beginning of Coruscant’s spring. He doesn’t go back to Kashyyk for the occasion but his hair become silkier and he can spend hours a day caring for it. He also tends to go more often at the dojo to spare against other males.” 

“Speaking about males and females –does your Master has a gender?” asked Trenn. He tried to explain his reasoning. “I know some species chose a gender to make humans relate easier to them. And I don’t know any gendered plant.”

“I know he identifies as a male,” said prudently Obi-Wan. “And I think it should be enough information for you.”

“Now, I can’t help but wonder if he has plant-like private parts,” sighed Tesla.

“You shouldn’t think about that at all!” Obi-Wan was sadly aware his face must be coloured by an interesting shade of red.

“This isn’t the real question,” added Trenn with a devious smile. “You know that most plants’ sexuality resolves around buds, flowers and fruits.”

Ciara must have understood what he was getting at because she asked, her blue eyes crinkled in the corners: “Did you touch the flowers?”

“I had to!” Exclaimed the Padawan. “He walked out of our quarters early to go in the gardens leaving the living-room a mess! There were flowers everywhere on the ground and on the table. I had to clean it up!”

“You realise you might have plunged your hands in the very symbol of your Master’s mating season,” teased Trenn.

Obi-Wan seized his cushion and threw it into the apprentice’s smug face.

“Well, nothing could be worse than listening to Master Yaddle’s sexual education lessons,” conclude Tesla, shaking her head.

Obi-Wan shivered. That was one thing he would happily miss.

* * *

“Did I ever told you that your Padawan was a pearl?”

Qui-Gon stared at his guest. Standing up before his living-room’s table, Tahl appeared more alive than ever. Her gaze was still veiled but her hair was well-cared for –probably thanks to her apprentice’s dexterous webbed fingers. Her spine was straight and she exuded self-confidence mixed with excitement. 

The Jedi Master glanced to the left, where Obi-Wan was submitting his ideas concerning his new lightsaber to his friend Bant.

“No, you have yet to tell me this,” answered the Nyaman.

“It’s official then. This time, he really impressed me.”

“What did my wayward apprentice do, this time?” inquired Qui-Gon with amusement.

“Wayward? This isn’t the adjective I would have chosen for him. Maybe devious. Or well-connected. The last two will be an asset for him once he’s knighted.”

“Yes, but he’s not knighted yet,” stressed the Jedi Master with his lianas. This movement scattered petals on the couch all around him and Bant sneezed. “He’s going to stay by my side for a few more years, at least. So he should put his foot down on his deviousness.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to be alone for quite a while, old bush,” she added with a wink. “Let’s go back to my news. Your Padawan connected me with an ingenious young apprentice –Master Claar’s in fact. Maybe you know him.”

“The tall Wookie with braided hair?” Tahl nodded. “Yes, I see him. He’s great in lightsaber combat. I’ve always admired his master of form IV. His Djem So has no match.”

“His apprentice is more mechanically inclined. We met two weeks ago and she reprogrammed TooJay!”

“Reprogrammed?” _Why in the stars did she do that?_ Reprogramming a droid was hard work, and her model was fully-functional.

“I explained to her most of my problems and we found some decent solutions. She even added some new features.”

Intrigued, Qui-Gon glanced at the grey humanoid droid standing beside the door. She looked the same as before.

“Most of the modifications are discreet. First,” she raised her thumb, “TooJay doesn’t make noise anymore. She had a humming problem before which made any stealth mission almost impossible. Secondly,” her index finger rose. “We adjusted her artificial recognition programs so she could be more useful. TooJay didn’t try to warn me that they were leaves on the floor afterwards when we walked through the garden.”

The Nyaman’s lianas moved to express his surprise, dispersing small pink flowers all over the table. Tahl gave him a lopsided smile. “Yes, that was very representative of her level of ineffectiveness. Those modifications were an absolute necessity.”

In the corner of his vision’s field, his Padawan sighed and removed half a dozen petals from his tea. _Oops._

“In addition to this, we also added some new features. You may know the Genetech Corporation created those models using the standard protocol droid blueprints. They have therefore many common points. So Master Claar’s apprentice suggested to include some languages to her matrix. Not thousands of them as advance protocol droids used in the Senate possess, but a few ones who could be an asset on the field. I chose Shyriiwook and Geonosian among others because they are hard to speak for a near-human-”

Qui-Gon listened to her explanations, his sap feeling warm under his bark. Tahl had not seemed this happy since she left the Hall of Healing. The end of his lianas curled slightly with emotions.

“-A blaster has even been included in her circuit in case the negotiations take a bad turn.”

“Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Master Claar’s apprentice insisted. She was very taken by the idea. The Padawan gave me a list of convincing arguments, from the standard ‘you could be disarmed or infiltrating a criminal organisation who shouldn’t know you’re a Jedi’ to the exotic ‘what if you encounter a living Rathtar?’ She seemed so concerned. I finally accepted it. A blaster could indeed be useful and fun from time to time.”

Qui-Gon’s leaves trembled with amusement. “It’s good to see you enthusiastic again,” he confessed.

Tahl sighed, staring at the window. Coruscant was still animated at this hour and speeders filled the sky. “I had the terrible impression that I was going to spend all my life saddled with a useless and overprotective droid who should have been an asset but proved herself detrimental to my work. Now, with the modification we’re made to her program, I feel like I’ve got more control over my future. I feel as if I gained an ally –as if my life isn’t finished, after all.”

She smiled at him with her unseen eyes and Qui-Gon caressed gently her wrist with one of his lianas in answer. They looked at their Padawan, sitting side by side, concentrated on the blueprints. Their whispers were loud; they apparently had some masterful and experimental ideas to include to the diagram.

Their life was carrying on, even after what happened a month ago. The future will offer them other trials and bad surprises; it was certain. But he hoped there will be good ones, too.

* * *

It was a good evening. Having Bant, Master Uvain and TooJay home was a treat Obi-Wan tried to appreciate to its fair value.

His friend had finally returned to her quarters during the twenty-first hour to revise her lessons for tomorrow. As Obi-Wan rose to wash the dishes, he saw Tahl and his Master going outside on the balcony.

The night was dark and he didn’t know what happened there.

But when they came back inside, a beautiful pink flower was put in Master Uvain’s hair. He recognised it; how could he not, when Master Qui-Gon’s body was so lively, covered by those same blooms.

Obi-Wan smiled secretly. He could swear that his Master’s leaves were blushing.


	15. The Red Crystal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is the next chapter of Master and Seeding. There will be action and heartbreak today ;)  
> Enjoy!

There were thieves in the Temple.

This situation was, in itself, not incredible nor particularly dangerous. There were thieves everywhere after all. Petty ones operating in Coruscant’s markets, members of the criminal underworld robbing weapons and money in the lower levels of the planet, corporations’ employees stealing data and patents for the competitors or politicians purloining state secrets in the Senate.

However, the Temple was the Jedi’s sacred ground. It wasn’t a place like any other. Therefore, the robbers couldn’t be only petty thieves. No, it would have been too simple or ordinary.

The first thief only operated in the Crèche. He didn’t gather a lot of attention. Little Hona Saki was indeed only four-years-old and she missed her family very much. She had been bought to the Order a month ago and had difficulties to adapt to her new home. In consequence, she had developed the nasty habit of stealing blankets and snatching errant Knights and Masters’ outer robes.  
Her planet had been so hot, the sand burning her leathery feet and the air searing her lungs. By comparison, Coruscant’s climate seemed chilly and numbing. She couldn’t sleep at night until she dropped from exhaustion. She was constantly afraid and the various odours her sensitive nose could pick upon the robes reassured her.

The second thief acted on a much larger scale and proved himself far more dangerous. A fallen Jedi with money troubles had heard the Temple protected a large amount of crystalline vertex –a highly valuable mineral refined into crystals used as currency by the Corporate Sector Authority. What a delightful opportunity!

Xanatos smiled. _Time for round two, Master.  
And this time, I’m going to win.  
_

* * *

Obi-Wan breathed with difficulty. His hair was glued to his forehead by sweat as he pushed aside the large leaves of an exotic tree.  
He had always loved the Room of a thousand fountains. He was attached to this gigantic greenhouse which had sheltered his free afternoons as an Initiate, the secrets he had shared with Bant and Garen as well as his long meditations with Master Qui-Gon.

He couldn’t feel any of it right now.

All the good memories seemed drowned by the wave of fear and anxiety filling him.

The Padawan threw his shoulder back to inspire air more deeply. He had to calm down if he wanted to be successful. _Breathe in, breathe out. Again._

_Breathe in, breathe out. Again._

He turned right toward the Skyreaching Fall and stared at the well-known figure standing right before him.

Bruck had changed in eighteen months.

His white hair was too long, covering the top of his ears. Nobody had taken the time to give him the Padawan haircut –which wasn’t surprising as he hadn’t been chosen by a Master. Now it was a bit greasy, apparently poorly cared-for. His blue eyes were still striking, yet they here surrounded by puffy red skin.

Obi-Wan felt compassion rising in him, brushing his feet like the rising tide did when his Initiate clan flew to discover the sea for the first time. They had been young –six or seven. Their Crèchemaster had led them to Chandrila, a peaceful Core planet just two hours away from Coruscant. The grass had been soft here, caressing their skin and the weather incredibly mild. It had seemed so different from the spiky grass of the Temple’s temperate gardens. The Togrutan Master had led them out of Hanna City’s spaceport to the Silver sea. Obi-Wan could never have imagined such a large body of water. He couldn’t even see the other shore! The sand had been so clear it reflected Chandrila’s sun; his young and impressionable mind had believed he was walking on something as precious as silver. Their teacher had shown them the colourful fishes –this sea had reefs providing shelter for them, and some of the strange flora. Bant and he had laughed so much at Garen’s expense when they had discovered the lopsided green plant with overgrown leaves was called _the_ _Garren Tree_. After this learning time, he had picked up soft-looking shells and had built a sand temple. He remembered being very proud of it.

Bruck had been jealous of his work and had stomped on it until it completely disappeared.

Their relationship had always been complicated. Even young, Obi-Wan’s presence seemed to make Bruck lash out. He would spoil his favourite fruit juice, trip him in front of other Masters, water his little plant with oil to make it died. If you had asked him his opinion about the boy then, Initiate Obi-Wan would have answered that he must be the biggest bully ever born on Coruscant. And he couldn’t stand bullies. So he wasn’t able to remain idle; he retaliated. Obi-Wan wasn’t very proud of it, but the day he pushed Bruck into one of the garden’s fountain after he made Bant’s skin peel had been fabulous. His damp white clothes had smelt like justice.

Time wasn’t for retaliation, now. The auburn-haired boy had experimented terrible things since his last days as an Initiate. He had discovered real hatred and its consequence on Melida/Daan’s inhabitants’ tired faces. He looked at Bruck Chun, at his greasy hair and his tear-swollen eyes and couldn’t feel any hatred toward him.

He knew the desperation he must feel, the debilitating fear to remain unchosen as the Masters avoided your silhouette in the Temple’s corridors. Apparently, it had driven Bruck into a corner, pushed him toward the fall until he decided to grasp a hand –the wrong hand. Xanatos’ one.

Would the same thing have happened to him if the dark Jedi had used all his persuasion and tricks to win him over instead of capturing him, if he had decided he needed an accomplice in Bandomeer’s mines as he did for the crystalline vertex’s theft? Would his fear have led him to Xanatos, too? He hoped no. He would never know for certain what his reaction may have been.

“Bruck? Please, where is Bant? Xanatos said you’re detaining her. She’s not involved in this. Just tell me where she is.”

“Why would I do that, Kenobi?” Spat the white-haired boy. He gripped his lightsaber tighter, moving his fingers on the hilt. “Why should I even listen to you?”

“Because we’re not in a dojo anymore and that I don’t want to fight you to death,” tried to explain Obi-Wan.

Bruck roared with laughter. “As if you knew anything about death.” The Padawan didn’t answer; it would do him no good. But he thought of airspeeders, of bloody planks and of holograms.   
He felt as if he knew too much about it already.

“In any case, I can’t see how you would fight me.” The Initiate’s smile was dark. “You don’t have a weapon, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t forgotten about that; it was one of the causes of his anxiety. His previous lightsaber was still disassembled and he hadn’t even finished drawing the blueprints of the next one.   
Had he been able to choose, he wouldn’t have come to the greenhouse to confront Bruck, not without a weapon. But the Initiate had captured Bant as a means of pressure and Master Qui-Gon was holding off Xanatos in the higher levels of the Temple. Most of the other Temple-bounded Jedi were searching for the bombs the former Padawan had disseminated as safeguards or locked behinds closed doors –the security system had been breached and was acting in an uncontrolled fashion.

Xanatos had been rumoured to be a very promising Jedi; Obi-Wan could understand that now when he saw how much mayhem he had caused in a few hours, with weeks of careful preparation.

His fear couldn’t get the upper hand, though. Bant was counting on him.

“If I don’t have a lightsaber, I’ll have to fight you without it,” said the Padawan with a bravado he didn’t really feel.

“If you think I’ll have mercy on you, you’re wrong, Kenobi,” added scornfully Bruck.

The boy switched on his saber and Obi-Wan stared at him wide-eyes. His blade had changed. Despite their differences, Initiate Chun and he had been chosen by look-alike crystals. Their colour had been remarkably similar once their weapons were powered up.

Now the blade wasn’t ice-blue anymore. It was deep red, its light blooding his pale face.

Obi-Wan’s throat closed with emotions. He wondered what happened to the crystal who had thought Bruck worthy of it, so many years ago.

However, it wasn’t the time for such considerations. He had to win this fight.

If Obi-Wan wanted to have a chance, he had to disarm Bruck. He couldn’t battle against a lightsaber empty-handed.   
But how could he do that?

Bruck took a step toward him and brandished his weapon. Forehead frowned, mouth turned down, he lunged forward, his red blade hissing in the air. Obi-Wan couldn’t pause to think. He crouched low, opening his consciousness to the Cosmic Force –he would need it if he wanted to stay alive.

His adversary pressed on, trying to slash at his unprotected stomach. The Padawan ducked right and left, avoiding the pulsing blade. The tainted lightsaber emitted dark energy which made its movements more predictable. Obi-Wan could feel the large body of water a few feet behind him. If he could lead the other toward it –

Bruck cried out of frustration. “Fight me, Kenobi! Stop avoiding me like the coward you are! You’re a loser, you’ve always been a loser. You don’t deserve to be a Padawan!”

The Initiate moved to strike him violently, anger and resentment feeding his strength. Only this time when he stepped aside, Obi-Wan stumbled on an overgrown root.

_A root, really? Is that a joke?_

He dropped down, falling backwards and scratching his hands. The apprentice saw on the corner of his eyes the cracked smile of the Initiate as he raised his lightsaber over his head. His gaze was, however, focused on the red ribbon blocking the path at his right shoulder’s level. _Red tape means the gardeners are working on this corner of the garden, younglings. So you mustn’t cross it! Please, be respectful. I know you enjoy a well-cared-for greenhouse._

_Well,_ thought Obi-Wan. _I hope the gardeners will forgive me._

He stretched out his hand, grabbing almost blindly toward the path with the Force. A second later, a very large terracotta pot crashed against Bruck’s head. The Initiate screamed in pain, dropping this powered-up weapon near Obi-Wan’s hips. The boy didn’t hesitate. He seized the metal hilt and threw it in the large pond behind him. The water hissed and produce a strange light until the dark energy completely disappeared, the blade court-circuited.

The Padawan turned back toward Bruck. His white hair was now mattered by dirt and blood ran down his temple and cheek. The whole left side of his face had been scrapped by the pot. Soil covered his boots and the poor unrooted purple bush laid down beside his feet.

“What did you do..?” Said the Initiate in a toneless voice.

“You have to lead me to Bant now, Bruck,” stated Obi-Wan. “You don’t have the upper hand anymore. You can put an end to all of this.”

“You think I have a choice.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Sometimes, I feel like all the cards I’ve been given were weak and useless –like I’ve never be given a real choice. I can’t back out, Obi-Wan. Not anymore.”

“The Order could take you back-”

“No they won’t,” disagreed the boy. His eyes seemed wet, but maybe it was an illusion created by the greenhouse’s transparisteel. “And even if they did, what will I become? A farmer on a dirtball employed by the AgriCorps? A teacher for countless rows of kids but never the Master of one? I wouldn’t bear it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t find the right words to comfort him. Those fears only echoed ones he had known too well. If only Feemor had been here –the apprentice was sure he would have been able to give him hope again.

As the right words escaped him, the only thing he could do was bending his knees to anchor himself in the ground when Bruck rushed toward him. The Padawan dodged left and tried to hit him in the ribs.   
This fight was different from all the ones he had ever experimented. It was a dirty duel, full of unconventional uses of the Force and bruised fists. It would have deserved the name of brawl if the stakes weren’t so high.

It was a blow in his stomach, the taste of blood on his tongue, the pain deep in his teeth, and now a successful punch right on his adversary’s wounds-

Bruck faltered, unsteady on his feet, his head injury draining the colour from his face-

-he tumbled.

He slipped on the mossy floor near the edge of the Skyreaching Fall, eyes wide-opened shining with surprise and fell down from the top of the cascade. 

Obi-Wan screamed with terror, running toward the edge of the waterfall. “Bruck!”

He threw himself on the floor, just on time to see him hanging further down on a jutting stone, over a fifteen meters drop. “Bruck! Hold on! I’m going to get help!”

The white hair boy raised his head with difficulties to stare at him. His arms were already trembling, weaken by their fight. He opened his mouth to talk and Obi-Wan had to concentrate to hear him over the roar of the water.

“Bant. She’s chained at the bottom of this waterfall’s plunge pool.”

His fingers were slipping on the stone. He moved, trying to get a better grip. His nails were breaking and bleeding on the unforgivable surface.

“My crystal will be all alone, now,” Obi-Wan heard Bruck mumble. “I must have been such a disappointment for it.”

The boy moaned and lost his hold. Obi-Wan could only stare at him in silence, words robbed from his mouth, as he crashed down headfirst on the grey rocks. 

* * *

Xanatos left without his reward but Qui-Gon was still frustrated he had been able to flee.

His now almost flowerless lianas were agitated as he climbed down from the higher levels of the Temple. Once he arrived at the living areas he paused, staring at the crowd forming before the Room of a thousand fountains. The Jedi Master approached slowly, his sap turning cold when he remarked the dark faces of the spectators.

“What happened here?” He finally asked a tall woman.

The Knight turned toward him, lips pinched by pain. “A youngling died during the attack.”

_A youngling?_ An uncomfortable feeling invaded him. It was hard to describe, as if the sky was growing heavy and Endorian ants were taking shelter in anticipation of the deluge. As if a disaster was brewing.

“I didn’t know the intruders went to the Crèche.”

“They didn’t,” negated the Human. “A fight occurred in the greenhouse and a child –an apprentice, died.”

Saying that his roots froze, frost suddenly paralyzing his trunk would be a gross understatement. His first reaction was to deny everything.

_No. That’s preposterous._

_It could not have happened._

“Excuse me,” he added absently, starting to push toward the door. “I have to go in there.” He used shamelessly his towering height to move forward until he broke away from the crowd.

The Room of a thousand fountains wasn’t a peaceful haven at this moment. Qui-Gon could see a few Council members to his left; all his attention was however focused on the two healers standing beside a repulsorlift stretcher.

There was a corpse on it.

He walked closer to them, slowly, very slowly, terrified by this floating stretcher but inextricably drawn toward it.

The body lying on it was small, the same size as his apprentice. It was covered by a white shroud from head to toes.

Qui-Gon felt a bit like he was dying.

_It’s not possible. We’re finally regaining some measures of normality. He’s so young!_

_No._

_It’s farcical._

If he could have done it, he would have probably puked. Instead, he grasped a corner of the sheet with wobbly appendages and lifted it.

The head was deformed and partially crushed. The cause of death seemed pretty obvious. The skull had been shattered and various body fluids were covering the damaged features.

His lianas were shaking so badly he had to let go of the shroud.

_I will never recover from that._

.

.

.

“Master!” A voice called him from afar. “Master!”

A body collapsed in his, moving him a few feet away from the stretcher. “Oh Master I’m so glad to see you I couldn’t leave the greenhouse to seek you out –”

One of his creepers gripped the small shoulder pressing on his bark. He took in the cropped autumn-coloured hair and the not-so-short Padawan braid, as the face was hidden against him. Hope flared again inside of him. “… Obi-Wan?”

The child clung to him even harder.

Qui-Gon looked again at the body lying on the stretcher.

He had not noticed it in his panic, but the hair of the deceased youngling was white, not red. 

* * *

“I think I know where Xanatos went,” stated Qui-Gon.

Feemor looked at him with a critical eye. He still appeared shaken from this day’s ordeal. Fighting his former apprentice and believing his Padawan died was admittedly a lot for one person. The Caamasi held back a sigh and moved a bit to the right, letting his fur brush against the Jedi Master’s lianas. His former Master slowly relaxed thanks to the sensory input.

“And where would he go?” Inquired Master Windu, his eyebrows frowned.

“Back to Telos, his homeworld. If we want to stop him, we’ll have to pluck him up by his roots, this time.”

“And I suppose you’ll want to do it,” told Feemor in a flat voice.

“Yes, but not now.” This answer took him by surprise. _Did Qui-Gon just say he’ll not chase Xanatos around?_ “It is not the time. Obi-Wan’s not ready for this confrontation. He came back a few weeks ago from a very taxing mission. He needs calm, a quiet time for meditation and recovery –maybe even more after today’s events. We’ll have time to track Xanatos after that.”

A strange feeling filled his lungs. It was tender, a bit hot and bittersweet.

_What is pride? Could he be proud of his former Master?_ Apparently, yes. The old Jedi must have worked hard on himself with his mind healer to change his priorities like that. A few months ago, Feemor was sure he would not have hesitated to run after the fallen apprentice. _He’s really trying to improve himself,_ he realised, _to be better for Obi-Wan._

“He could disappear again while you’re resting with your Padawan,” stressed Master Windu.

“He could,” agree Qui-Gon. “But I’m sure our paths will cross again if it’s the case. Xanatos never learned when to stop,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Maybe it could turn to our advantage, this time,” hoped Master Windu.


	16. Where The Lost Ones Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! I'm still working on 'Master and Seedling' and the Qui/Obi A/B/O challenge who's beginning the 28th. I've updated the link to the challenge's Tumblr account chapter 14 if you're interested. 
> 
> Maybe some of you wondered about it, but Master Dapatian isn't an OC. He's just a canon council member on which we have very few information. :')
> 
> I'm happy to share this new chapter with you.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it, too!

_One step after another._

The old Jedi walked down the Temple’s corridors slowly, trying to spare his hurting back. He freed his mind from the pain and continued to move forward. The human had a lifetime of releasing emotions, sensations and visions through the Force; as time passed, the act had become something of a ritual. A reassuring habit.

The Jedi smiled when he approached the Crèche. He could feel the Younglings’ presence as dozens of stars shining in the night. _What a beautiful sight!_ Maybe this was the reason why Yoda always found the time to play and rest with the Initiates.

“Master Dapatian?! What are you doing here?” The Crèchemaster trod toward him, her lekkus swinging behind her.

“Master Alin’Nan! What a pleasure! Can you give me your arm? I’m afraid the journey to the Temple’s higher levels tired me…”

The blue-skinned Twi’Lek hastened to stretch out her arm and fussed over him, insisting on helping him to sit down.

“Thank you, my dear! I’m searching for something very specific…”

* * *

His Little Fire was still pale his morning, dark shadows under his blue eyes. Yesterday’s events had hit him hard and he had difficulties to rest. Qui-Gon knew that well as he had rocked him to sleep last night, pressing him against his bark like a seedling.

The Jedi Master hoped today’s news will distract him.

“You called me, Master?” Inquired his autumn-head boy.

“Yes, Padawan. I have a mission for you.”

“A mission?” His apprentice tugged a bit on his Padawan braid.

“I need you to gather some items: clothes you think are adapted for a tropical climate, a waterproof garment, your boots, some rations and a sleeping bag.” He paused. “Your crystal, too. It could be useful.”

“Alright.” His apprentice seemed a bit saddened by this announce. “If I may enquire where are we send to? I had hoped the Council would have waited longer before entrusting us another assignment.”

“This is not an official mission,” clarified Qui-Gon. “I thought we needed time for ourselves, to talk and experiment things without people waving blasters or lightsaber in front of us. To learn from each other in a different environment.”

“And the Council agreed…?”

The careful question made his lianas trembled with laugher. “Yes! This time I did this by the numbers. Mace even promised to provide us with a decent ship for our journey.”

“With less missing parts than our flying bin to Rodia?” Added cheekily his boy.

“One can only hope,” answered Qui-Gon in a dramatic tone.

The end of his vines curved a little with emotion. It was _so good_ to hear his Padawan joke with him again. He appeared to be more comfortable with him already, healing steadily from last months’ injuries.  
The idea of this trip came to him spontaneously and he was sure it would be good for both of them. Obi-Wan was special for him and he wanted to share something new and different with him.

“Where are we going, Master?” His padawan moved toward his bedroom, fetching his travel bag. “And do you think we could take Alana with us this time?”

“We could if you want to.” The Jedi Master paused, emotions filling him. “We’re going back home, Obi-Wan. I want to show you my homeworld.”

* * *

Master Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stood side by side on the Temple’s landing bay, checking their transport.

“Well,” commented the apprentice, “This time Master Windu didn’t con us. This is a _great_ starship!”

“I think it’s a new model,” added the Nyaman lowly as he walked toward the transparisteel cockpit.

“The kind of brand new technology Feemor spoke to me about? Wicked! Look, the paint is intact! I never saw an Order’s ship with paint on it!”

Obi-Wan took a picture of it with his comm; he could send him to his brother-Padawan later. The red-and-white shuttle was large, with a round cockpit and three folding wings. The transparisteel viewport seemed broader than usual, offering an almost perfect 180-degree view. This transport seemed robust as well as ergonomic.

“I like its design”, concluded the Master. “We’re going to be comfortable in it.”

The Padawan heard steps coming toward them. He turned around and faced Master Windu, who was wearing his dark brown cloak, protecting him from the wind.

“I’m glad you like my choice. It’s an _Eta_ -class shuttle made par Cygnus Spaceworks if you’re interested, young apprentice,” he added, nodding to Obi-Wan. “The ship is equipped with a class two hyperdrive, so you should arrive quickly to your destination. I only ask you to keep me informed every week of your status, Qui-Gon.”

“It will be done,” answered gracefully the Nyaman Master.

Master Windu sighed and pinched his nose. “On another subject – I’ve got something for you, Padawan Kenobi.” He took a small package from his belt. “It’s from Master Dapatian. He told me you could need it during your journey and that you should open it when you’ll feel ready.”

Obi-Wan was confused. _Master Dapatian? The old Jedi Seer he encountered in Grandmaster Yoda’s quarters? What would he want to offer him?_

He took the small bundle anyway and put it in his bag. “Thank you, Master Windu. I’m sure it will be useful.”

The Jedi softened when he saw his puzzled expression and smiled. “He’s a wise man. This gift will probably prove itself helpful to you, in due time.”

“He’s awfully old for a human, too. Maybe he’s just his age catching up with him,” mumbled his teacher behind them.

Master Windu ignored him magnanimously and tilted his head, wishing them good travel.

The first thing Obi-Wan did once he entered the cockpit was searching a good spot for Alana to settle. He took her out of his bag and put the flower beside the co-pilot seat, against the viewport.

“She’ll feel the stars this way,” he explained to his Master as he sat down to his right. “She has been excited since I told her yesterday we’ll be travelling.”

The apprentice brushed his mind against hers and smiled at the overwhelming eagerness flooding into him.

“I’m entering the coordinates. Can you unfold the lateral wings, Padawan?”

“Done! Where is located your homeworld, Master?”

“It’s in the Outer Rim territories, rather close to the Mid Rim. A few parsecs stand between it and the moon of Ajan Kloss. It’s not very far away from the Braxant Run, too.”

“And how is it called?”

“We named it Nima, which means “home” in my native language.”

Obi-Wan looked at the control panel before him and frowned. “I hope we’re not going to get boarded by pirates this time, Master. Because this brand-new ship wasn’t equipped with weapons.”

“I knew it was too good to be true,” muttered the Nyaman. “We should be safe from danger if we follow the Hydian way. Let’s have faith in the Force, my apprentice!”

* * *

When they left hyperspace, the glowing stars surrounding them disappeared. Space was darker in this part of the Galaxy, distant from the colourful nebulae and the radiant star clusters characterizing the other side of the Outer Rim.

Through the transparisteel viewport, Obi-Wan could see a small and seemingly unremarkable system. Its modest star was dark orange, which meant its temperature and luminosity were below average. The planet orbiting the celestial body seemed tiny and green. 

“Is it a dwarf planet, Master?”

“Yes; Nima’s system is a small-scale one. It worked to our advantage as it kept us out of greedy people’s attention.”

“And is it possible to go around his world, then?”

The idea seemed strange to the apprentice. He couldn’t imagine a planet small enough to be able to go around it.

Obi-Wan’s enthusiasm apparently delighted his Master who gently brushed his one of his lianas through his spiky auburn hair.

“Yes. I think you could travel around this planet in a week on a sturdy speeder. Now, let’s see if we can make a smooth landing.”

* * *

The shuttle touched down when the sun began to disappear beyond the tall trees. Obi-Wan activated the boarding ramp and gathered his belongings. His Master checked their starship was well protected by the clearing’s vegetation and turned toward him. 

Obi-Wan’s silence was religious. The local fauna must have been afraid of the transport’s noise because the forest was quiet. It, however, didn’t stay that way very long. It started with a croaking, swiftly followed by hissing and chirping. Soon, a multitude of noises echoed in the bushes and exotic trees. The apprentice couldn’t distinguish the animals due to the poor light and the forest itself seemed to be alive.

“Our trip tired me; almost all ships are too small for my unusual height. We could prepare ourselves to rest.” Master Qui-Gon’s voice was low and soothing. “Do you have enough rations for tonight, or do you want me to search for fruits?”

The Padawan counted them aloud. “I ate two of them on board so I still have one portion of tubes. That should be plenty.”

“Perfect. We’ll start searching for food tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan heated his meal and ate seated against his Master’s bark. The Jedi seemed so peaceful, his creepers extended around him like sunrays, trying to capture the last caresses of the dozing star.

The teenager finally unfolded his sleeping bag and laid down on the grass.

“Master”, he whispered, “When was the last time you came to Nima?”

“Years ago. I returned here after Xanatos’s betray.”

“Did you ever brought him here?”

His teacher stayed silent for a moment. “No, you’re the first Padawan I’ve ever invited here.”

The darkness didn’t permit him to see his Master’s expression, but the Nyaman stoke his hair with one of his lianas, a sign he wasn’t disgruntled at him. “Sleep now, small one.”

Obi-Wan leaned in his touch and closed his eyes.

* * *

When the apprentice woke up, his Master greeted him with gifts.

“Those roots are full of nutrients and edible for humans. I also prepared you a fruit juice.”

The teenager blinked and tried to plait again his messy braid. “Thank you very much, Master!”

The pale yellow drink was sweet and thick, filling his stomach.

“Do you think we could explore the forest today? It’s not often we have time to visit local wonders while off-planet,” emphasised Obi-Wan as he chewed the roots.

“Why not? When you’ll be ready, pack your bag. I’ll lead you through the woods.”

Once their belongings were gathered again, Master Qui-Gon guided him outside of the clearing. The sunlight piercing through the green and white foliage above them allowed him to discover his surrounding for the first time since their arrival.

The trees were gigantic, with large trunks and red bark. They emitted a strong but relaxing resinous fragrance, mixing with the rich odour of the soil. Birds were singing and chattering on the higher branches. Obi-Wan could barely see them, spotting some colourful feathers half-hidden between the leaves or catching their movements from the corner of his eyes.

All his senses had never been so well stimulated. The Padawan had grumblingly accepted that he would often be assaulted by nauseous smells, by the screams and agitations of the ecumenopolis. He would wince, pinch his nose and do his work.

He didn’t have to do it here.

If Obi-Wan’s body permitted it, he could have opened his ears wider. He contented himself with breathing in deeply, enjoying the fragrances’ symphony spreading around him.

“Nima’s surface can be divided into three areas,” explained Qui-Gon as they walked through the woods. “The forest we are exploring is the Shelter. It covers approximatively two-fifths of the planet. To the North, at the pole, there are the High Plains, very windy. And Nima’s southern lands are covered by the Great Sea.”

“Are we going to meet other Nyamans?”

“Probably not. We’re a rather shy species. It wouldn’t be a surprise to me if most of them choose to avoid the area on which our ship has landed.

“Oh.” Disappointment filled the teenager. He had hoped to encounter other members of his Master’s species.

“Come on; I want to show you a special place.”

Qui-Gon led his apprentice between the tall trees. Obi-Wan didn’t know how the Jedi could find his way here; there was no marked trail, no noticeable landmark and nothing was more similar to a bush than another one from the same species. The ground under their feet finally changed a little, becoming mossy. The air seemed more humid and Obi-Wan could hear the gurgling of a river nearby. The Nyaman stopped.

“It’s here.”

The Padawan couldn’t see anything specific. It was a peaceful spot in the forest, not too shaded by the trees. The sunrays could hit the floor and made the moss shone. At his left, Qui-Gon’s lianas curled with emotions. He felt relaxed and nostalgic through their bond.

_Maybe this was the answer. Maybe he had to look at this place with his mind and not with his eyes only._

Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force and _saw_.

The soil here wasn’t ordinary. It was old, full of nutrients and memories. It was a soil that lived, that gave birth. It murmured things to his ears very quietly.

_They gave me an egg and I watched over it. It spouted and I nurtured, I guarded, I fed. Its roots grew in me and I welcomed them. I heard its questions. It was a curious seedling. What is the sky? What is water? It is dangerous?  
I consoled it when it feared the river. I sang to it when the sun caressed its branches.  
One day it had grown enough and its root came out of me. It was free to move and live without me. It left. I was sad and I was happy._

_…_

_Hello child._

The Padawan’s eyes were wide opened as he stared at his Master.

“Welcome to my birthplace, Obi-Wan. This is where I come from.”

His Master’s presence was still discernible in this forest’s spot, like footprints or fossils hidden by the moss. The flesh had disappeared but the gaps left behind were perceptible. The apprentice felt humbled and privileged to be here. It was obviously a sacred place for Qui-Gon and the Nyaman was offering the teenager a chance to discover this part of him. 

“Do you want to meditate here with me, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan nodded and sat on the floor. His Master put one of his lianas over his shoulders and led his mind toward the light.

* * *

Returning to Nima felt like a rebirth.

Qui-Gon’s leaves absorbed the oxygen greedily, making the best of this rich atmosphere so different from Coruscant’s polluted air.

The Jedi Master had left his apprentice near the river an hour earlier. The afternoon’s sun was a warm blanket over his creepers. He had made earlier a pilgrimage to the sacred stream in which he had found his apprentice’s pebble. Their soft song had lulled his soul and polished the precious memories he kept of his time here.

Qui-Gon could now see from afar the bent silhouette of his Padawan. His hair shone like a flame with the sunrays’ caresses. He had removed his tunic and his elbows were apparently deep in the water. To be in the open air seemed to be good for him; the dark rings under his eyes were steadily disappearing. The boy was less withdrawn, more curious and playful. The Nyaman could see him slowly growing, his torso getting broader and his mind blooming like a flower.  
Where Feemor had been compassionate and Xanatos sharp, Obi-Wan seemed to be all heart.

As he approached, Qui-Gon noticed the container left on the ground beside him. A silver fish was wriggling in it.

“What are you doing, Obi-Wan?”

The boy turned toward him, the pale skin of his torso covered by freckles, and offered him a large toothy smile.

“Fishing, Master! I’ll need some proteins this week. Feemor also recommended me a method I wanted to try.”

“A fishing method?” Qui-Gon was slightly worried. His first Padawan was a mammalian who hunted his own food when he needed it on less civilized words. He had seen him one day jumping on an electric eel in a lake after fastidious negotiations –Feemor’s stomach had been bottomless during his adolescence.

Where those ‘methods’ really safe for a clawless young human?

“I’m not sure jumping on fishes will be a good idea,” said lowly the Nyaman. “You shouldn’t believe Feemor when he’s talking about food or hunting.”

Obi-Wan looked at him as if he was speaking huttese.

“I’m not jumping on the fishes. That would scare them and be counterproductive,” he explained slowly, staring at his teacher. “I use the current against them to fish.”

Reassured and quite intrigued now, the Nyaman bent beside his Padawan. “Can you show me how?”

Obi-Wan nodded. He plunged his arms again in the water. “See, the river bed is clayey, which is helpful. I build small dykes with the clay under the water to push the fishes toward the bank. Then I can catch them. I already have a fish, but it’s a bit too small so I’d like to catch one more.”

“May I make an attempt?” Inquired Qui-Gon. He was curious to try his hand at it.

“Why not? You could build a dyke over there, where the current’s stronger. Yes, that’s good! Just make it higher or the fishes may try to swim over it…”

* * *

His nose was itching.

Obi-Wan frowned in his sleep. A buzzing sound was slowly extracting him from his dreams. He tried to fight it and didn’t open his eyes. The teenager wanted to stay in bed a bit longer. But some things weren’t meant to be.

His nostrils trembled as a soft and hairy touched it. The Jedi apprentice woke up and moved violently backward in fear.

A gigantic insect with two wings, as tall as a cushion, was flying beside his sleeping bag. Its body was round and covered by black and yellow short hair. Obi-Wan looked at it in the eyes. The creature’s ones were black and topped by two small antennas. It didn’t seem perturbed by his sudden movement. The insect continued to buzz and fly around him lazily.

“Don’t be scared, Obi-Wan. It’s just a ba-bee.”

His Master’s voice drew the teenager’s attention. “Ba-bees aren’t aggressive creatures. They don’t have claws or stings. They spend almost all their days gathering nectar and pollen. They are curious creatures too! This one must be fascinated by you. You may be the first human it has ever seen.”

The Padawan slowly relaxed. The ba-bee turned around his head, brushing against his neck. Intrigued, Obi-Wan touched it lightly. The creature’s hair was a bit coarse but still pleasant under his sensitive digits.

It finally flew away toward Alana, who Obi-Wan had put on a stump. The ba-bee tried to land on it. The teenager smiled. The scene was comical as the insect was as tall as the flower. In his mind, he could feel Alana’s curiosity and interest. She started to sing as if to entice the creature.

“Is she…?”

“She’s trying to incite the ba-bee to gather her pollen, yes. It’s quite logical for a flower.”

Obi-Wan was dumbfounded. “I seem to always discover new things about her. Organic life-forms are so surprising!” He turned his head toward his teacher. “Do you sang to ba-bees, too?”

“I promise you I’ll not do that, Padawan.”

“That _doesn’t mean_ you can’t do it, does it?”

“That, Padawan, will stay a secret for both our sakes.”

* * *

Most of their days were full of joy and discoveries. Master Qui-Gon led Obi-Wan to the Great Sea, at the south of Nima. The sand was clear there and the water almost turquoise blue. There were fishes too, different from the ones in the river.

“The water’s composition differs in those two places; there are far more calcium and sodium in the steam. The fauna is, therefore, different. The river shelters silverfishes and the sea scalefishes.”

They tested their endurance on the beaches and Master Qui-Gon gave him free-diving lessons.

“It’s an important skill to hone and there’s no better place to do it. The water is lukewarm and clear. Oh, look to your right; a red-and-yellow scalefish!”

However, that didn’t mean everything was perfect –nothing could be.

The seventh night, Obi-Wan stumbled upon Master Dapatian’s gift, forgotten at the bottom of his bag. He opened the cloth-covered item and paused when a small blue kyber crystal fell into his hands.

He wouldn’t have recognized it using his eyes only. But he had other senses and the crystal was speaking through the Force. It talked of youth, hope, sadness and desire to learn.

It spoke of white hair and stubbornness, but never of darkness nor red blade.

_Bruck’s former blue crystal. The one he found on Ilium the same day as me. The estranged twin of my kyber crystal._

_Why did Master Dapatian give it to him?_

His first reaction was to reject it. _How could he keep this crystal when he had let his owner died?_ Then he overcame this impulse and thought of his last confrontation with the Initiate. Obi-Wan had tried to avoid mulling over it since he left Coruscant. His days were full enough to keep his mind elsewhere and he was often so tired when he put his head on his pillow that he fell quickly asleep.

Bruck’s last thoughts had been about his kyber crystal. Obi-Wan’s journey on Melida/Daan had taught him many things, including that a dead man’s words were sacred. The white-haired Initiate had been worried about his crystal; maybe it was his duty to take care of it, now.

But could he do it? Didn’t it deserve more than obligation, more than duty?

Master Qui-Gin must have sensed his agitation; he tugged lightly on their bond, pointing out to him that he was available should he need it.

Obi-Wan got up, the crystal cradled in one of his hands, and walked toward the river. The Nyaman was standing in the stream, his roots submerged. The teenager sat on the bank in front of him.

He stayed silent a few seconds, enjoying his Master’s calm and his patience, before searching words able to express his thoughts and doubts.

“Sometimes I have the impression my feelings aren’t normal,” he finally began. “As if they were strange and crooked like an old tree. I don’t match people’s expectations. When I was on Melida/Daan…” A pause. “When I was on Melida/Daan, there was all sort of rumours about Cerasi and I’s relationship. The others thought I was at least in love with her. The pettier of them claimed we were sleeping together. I wasn’t like that at all. I loved her, but I wasn’t _in love_. She was fantastic, an equal, someone I admired and who pushed me forwards. Probably one of my dearest friend. It’s hard to put a word on this kind of relationship. I only know it’s not lover, but friend seems weak all the same.”

Obi-Wan stared at the water, almost afraid of looking at his Master. He wasn’t expecting reprimands but still felt as if could lose the power of speech by discovering his expression.

“I have the same problem with Bruck. I encountered a lot of people who felt hatred. They hated their neighbours, the estranged members of their families, the others. Sometimes this animosity was more or less justified. Sometimes not. To their criteria, I should loath Bruck. I should resent him because he was a bully and I often got into trouble because of him. The thing is… I can’t. He wasn’t really a good person, he lied and cheated. But I knew him since I was a youngling and he is in all my earlier memories. He’s part of me. How can I hate a part of me?”

“Those are heavy yet wise thoughts, my apprentice. If there is one thing I learned since I was an Initiate, it’s that not fitting in the humanoid society’s mold is not grave. Cerasi and Bruck were important for you in your own way –and that should be enough for everyone. Nobody should make you feel as if your feelings are inadequate. They are yours, that’s all.”

The Nyaman left the water and sat beside him, his wet lianas brushing against Obi-Wan’s bare calves. “Maybe there’s still another place I should show you on Nima. We’ll go tomorrow; it’s a few hours from our ship. For the moment, you should go back to sleep. The moons are already high in the sky and you’ll want to be rested in the morning”

Obi-Wan nodded and got up, walking slowly toward the clearing. A strange restlessness tormented him and the apprentice wasn’t sure he’ll be able to close his eyes this night.

* * *

The awaking was difficult; as he had predicted yesterday, the teenager was lacking sleep. He still tried to his best to be efficient as he prepared himself for the long walk.

“The place we’ll be heading for is at the west of the Shelter. We could be there at midday if we’re quick enough.”

The journey was tiring but Obi-Wan held on. Master Qui-Gon slow down a few time to let him rest. And when the small orange sun rose high in the sky, the two Jedi finally stopped, leaning against a large uprooted tree.

“We’re almost there. It’s behind those stones.” The Nyaman pointed at the three monolithic stones erected behind it. Obi-Wan first thought they were a natural anomaly. But as he approached them he realized they were too polished and standing at regular intervals. The apprentice turned around the dead tree and noted that more stones were hidden behind the abundant vegetation. From his point of view, they appeared to be arranged in an arc; those monoliths must, therefore, form a very large circle.

“Was it created by Nyamans?”

“Yes,” answered Qui-Gon, coming to his side. “It’s a sacred place. You’ll have to be respectful inside of it, my apprentice.”

The tall Jedi walked past the monolith standing before them, followed by his apprentice and entered the stone circle. Obi-Wan’s eyes were immediately caught by the dozens of trees planted in it. Some were small, nothing more than seedlings whereas others reached three standard meters. The more surprising was their foliage. They were obviously from the same species, ones he hadn’t seen in the forest before.

The Padawan came nearer. He frowned –the teenager would have recognized those oval leaves eyes closed. He had cared for them for days when they had been at their lowest, weakened by sickness. Their stems grew on long intertwined vines, creating a thick weft covering the plant’s trunk.

The apprentice opened his mind to the Force and brushed against those trees. He expected to encounter complex thoughts characteristic of sentient life-forms. He found none –only far away impressions of solace, heat and peace.

“Master,” Obi-Wan whispered, unsettled. “Master, what happened? Those plants, they look like Nyamans. But they don’t feel _right_ …”

Qui-Gon wrapped one of his lianas around his shoulder to comfort him. “Those trees _were_ Nyamans,” he corrected gently. “I bought you to this sacred place without telling you its name. This is the _faren-ti_. It doesn’t really have a translation in Basic. It could mean ‘the home of those who returned to the earth’ or ‘where the lost ones grow’. This is our becoming. We are born of the earth and we return to it.”

“I don’t understand, Master.”

“When a Nyaman die, it’s traditional for a loved one to take a cutting and to plant it. As long as it is cared for, it will grow and live, an echo of the dead returned to the soil. This is why they don’t feel right to you. They aren’t sentient anymore. But does that make them any less important?”

Obi-Wan felt troubled. His first reaction had been fear –how could he not when he had brushed his mind against a former sentient being? Discovering this _near_ _emptiness_ where thoughts and life should have been… it was terrifying. However, his Master’s explanations shed another light on this place. A new form of calm trickled into him, something almost comforting.

Qui-Gon nodded as if he acknowledged his realization.

“I love this place,” he confessed to his apprentice. “This is, for me, the perfect illustration of our belief. There is no death, there is the Force. Our love ones never disappear, Obi-Wan. They are still here, in the Force, with us. In the _Faren-ti_ , where they are even visible.”

The Nyaman looked at his Padawan in the eyes. “There’s still room here for other forms of life deserving to return to the earth. I think you should know it.”

Obi-Wan smiled, gratefulness filling him, appeasing yesterday’s anxious questions. He touched lightly the growing tree standing in front of him.

“I had a query, Master.”

“Yes, Padawan?”

“Do you know if it’s possible to build a lightsaber made of wood?”

* * *

When Obi-Wan departed from Nima on their _Eta_ -class shuttle, he had gained things and left others behind.

The Padawan had grown, gained new knowledge, a closer bond to his Master and a new lightsaber hanging from his belt, hilt made of brylark tree –the only wood as strong as metal.

And left behind, a blue kyber crystal and a stone engraved with the name of a loved one were finally resting in the Faren-ti’s ground.

_Buck. Cerasi.  
It’s time for me to say you goodbye._


	17. Rolling The Dice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we begin a new mission arc! I hope you will enjoy this one; I put all my love of Star Wars in it :')

_Everything he sees is blurred. There are colours around him. Blue, pink, gold, silver… They twist and turn, snickering and laughing. He would like to move, to escape from this wavering and nauseating palette. He tries to turn his head and discovers he’s immobilized. He’s grounded, locked as a hare caught by a snare. Fear grips his heart._

_Suddenly, he can focus. He stares at a blue male Twi’lek, leaning on a table. As if to compensate for the blurry and messy background, the stranger’s body is very detailed. His eyes have never been so keen._

_The male is richly clothed; he can observe the quality of his tailored bloody-red suitcoat, the thin and shining threads of synthsilk intertwining in his shirt and scarf. He smiles and laughs to dark and indistinct silhouettes. There’s something in his hand. A card. An ace of heart._

_He roars and put it on the table. Apparently, he wins._

_He vanishes._

_Now there’s a tall woman. She has an elaborated haircut built around flowers and gems. Her fingers are adorned with jewels; they shine under the artificial light. It’s giving him a headache. She opens her purse and looks at her twenty white-and-green counters. Her mouth turns down._

_A murmur reaches his ears. It says: look.  
And on the ground, there’s a paper. It must have fallen from somebody’s pocket. A business card. It’s very far away but he can read it. His eyes are sharpers than Whisper birds’. There are an unfinished circle and a name. Xanatos du Crion._

_The card disappears, taken by a strong wind. The colours bleed together and everything becomes dark. The whirling air brings a salty smell toward him. He hears the drums of the waves crashing against rocks._

_The last things he sees is the nebulae painting the sky._

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, troubled. He recognized the shape of his bedroom’s furniture, plunged in darkness. His Master and he had come back to the Temple yesterday, exhausted by the journey.

Here he was, trying to recover from his lack of sleep aboard their shuttle. However, sweet dreams weren’t for him tonight, apparently. It wasn’t the first time he had a Force vision about his Master’s former Padawan. Obi-Wan mulled over this observation. Were they linked? Did the fact they were part of the same lineage explain this proximity? He finally preferred to think Master Qui-Gon _was_ this connection between them.

He didn’t want to be personally tied to this turned Jedi, this man who laughed in the face of enslaved populations and ruined whole planets. The man who duped Bruck.

Maybe things had become personal between them that day, he realized.

Obi-Wan turned around and played absent-mindedly with his sheets. He should try to go back to sleep; the sun wasn’t up yet. Unfortunately, his mind was already wide-awake, occupied by heavy thoughts. 

Tomorrow will be a challenging day, he already knew it.

* * *

The Archives were calm this morning. The Initiates were still in the Crèche and most of the Temple-bounded Padawans had lessons before midday. Obi-Wan navigated from aisle to aisle, trying to find inspiration, a place to start his researches. He read the shelves’ signs: _Galactic Core, Lightsaber fighting’s technics, History of the Republic, Middle-Rim, Outer-Rim territories, Jedi Philosophy…_

Where to begin? He could take a look at the _Seer, prophecies and Force Vision_ ’s section. Obi-Wan held back a sigh. He had walked here full of hope twenty minutes ago but his confidence was already waning. He had no certitude to find an answer alone in this forest of datapads.

The apprentice turned right, ready to explore the next row.

“Padawan? Can you help me?”

An old Jedi was sprawled on the Archives’ white floor, half-hidden behind a shelf. Obi-Wan hurried toward him. He noted his bald head and the respirator mask covering the lower part of his face.

“Master Dapatian? Are you alright?”

He helped the elderly Jedi to stand upright and picked up the fallen documents.

“Oh, I’m afraid I slipped on the floor. The paving stones are too polished for their own good! Thank you for your assistance, Padawan …?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master.”

“Ah, the tea apprentice! We met at Master Yoda’s quarters a few weeks ago.” The old man gripped his wrist tightly. The movement surprised Obi-Wan, who stared at him. “Was the kyber crystal useful to you?”

The apprentice nodded, swallowing his saliva. “Yes, it was. I must thank you too, for it provided me hope and closure when I needed it.”

Master Dapatian gave him a large and secretive smile. “I had the impression it would be important for you.”

“May I accompany you toward a table?” Obi-Wan looked at the three collections of poems he was holding. “You must be doing researches…”

“Alas, I’m only occupying the time! I hoped to be of help to some young minds but I forgot they weren’t early birds contrary to me. I’m afraid old age keeps you awake more nights than you would like.” The elderly Jedi winked with humour at the teenager.

The apprentice led him towards an empty desk. The former councillor’s knees squeaked loudly when he sat down, making Obi-Wan winced compassionately.

“And you, young man, do you need some help?” Finally asked the Jedi.

The apprentice thought of his vision again. “Actually, I think I do. I had a dream yesterday and I think it is prophetic. I would like to try to interpret it; it may be the key to catch a dangerous criminal.”

Master Dapatian hummed lightly, staring at him. His pale blue eyes were shining with wisdom. One again, Obi-Wan was admirative before this dichotomy; if his body looked weakened by old age, the Master’s mind was still as sharp as a blade. “Then, it seems I have found today’s occupation! Would you please narrate your dream? It would help us to begin our researches.”

The Padawan took out a notebook from his bag; he had painstakingly noted all the details he could remember in it when sleep evaded him again. He checked his first words and began his tale.

The Jedi Seer let him speak without interruption. He nodded a few times, frowned during a moment but waited until he had finished to raise a few questions.

“Before we start, I wanted to know if it was the first time you had this kind of vision,” the Master demanded in a firm yet hoarse voice.

“No, it isn’t. I already had a few –including another one which involved this criminal,” clarified Obi-Wan.

“Good, good. Let’s begin, then. I suppose you wish to find more information about this delinquent, Xanatos. What are you searching for, exactly?”

“I already know his identity. I’ve met him a few times –that’s how I recognized his name and his sigil. His current localisation is, however, uncertain. Everybody thought he was still on his homeworld, Telos; this vision made me a bit doubtful.”

“Alright. Let’s gather our clues. You saw humans and human-likes individuals. That, I’m afraid, won’t help us to reduce our research area.” The elderly Jedi chuckled. “Your notes about their garments could be useful on the other hand.”

“They were all richly clothed,” remembered Obi-Wan. “They wore synthsilk, jewels, gold… They’re probably wealthy and gathered in a safe-space; they wouldn’t show their fortune so carelessly otherwise.”

“You mentioned cards and counters, too. What does it say to you?”

“They are gambling?” Suggested the Padawan. “With that kind of cards, they could be playing Pazaak.”

“It’s an interesting clue. You see, chance cubes or duelling dice are common games. You could find them in almost every cantinas, well-known ones as well as hovels. Pazaak demands an organization, a croupier. It’s the preserve of casinos.”

“So we’re searching for a rich casino, in a secure place? Probably a renowned one.”

“I think it’s time to interrogate our database,” confirmed Poli Dapatian with a smile.

Obi-Wan switched on of the Archives’ computers and initiated a search. The result made him frown. “That’s still a lot of possibilities.”

His discouragement made the elderly Jedi chuckle. “Don’t give up so early! Learn to trust in the Force, apprentice. You had this vision for a reason. Now, have patience. Show me your findings. Humm, some of them can be easily discarded. Try to eliminate at least one option!”

Obi-Wan skimmed through the names and one of them made him pause. “It can’t be the Great Casino of Tarko-se because Cato Neimoidia is rather closed to foreigners. I wouldn’t have seen humans or human-likes there. The same reason excludes Toydaria.”

“Good! That’s a beginning. Now, what other hints can you use?”

“I heard the sound of a sea? Of waves crashing down on rocks?”

“What can you deduce from this observation?” Master Dapatian gave him an encouraging look.

“Coruscant has lots of casinos but none of them near water. Same thing for Metellos, as they’re both ecumenopolises. The Space Station Casino located in the Voxx Cluster asteroid field is in space –I’m sure it’s not the right one. Kijimi City’s establishment… That’s more complicated. I don’t know this planet.”

“I may be of help. I’ve done a mission there when I was far younger. It’s a good planet for a healthy gambler, but the capital city was built on a mountain. A very tall mountain. The climate’s frigid and snow’s falling almost all year. There’s no sea there.”

“That leaves us with three possible localisations. Hosnian Prime’s Grand Casino, Tamwith Bay’s casino on Raxus and The Canto Bight Casino.”

“There’s water near all of those,” noted the Jedi Master.

“How can I decide between them? We must have forgotten something.” Obi-Wan opened again his notebook. A thrill of anticipation was growing inside him. He felt it; he was touching his goal. “Hum, I already talked about the sea. I noted the wind was strong, too? But I’m not sure this could be useful…” He skimmed through his notes and let a small jubilant noise. “There! At the vision’s very end, I saw the sky. There was a nebula in it!”

“You could check this variable quickly using a map of the Galaxy,” recommended Poli Dapatian. 

The Padawan activated the galactic Atlas and entered the coordinates. “Raxus is in S-5 in the Outer-Rim territories… No, that’s not the right one. Now, Hosnian Prime in the Core, M-12 -” Obi-Wan remarked the planet orbited a star with four other astronomical objects. But there were no signs of nebulae nor star clusters. He began to doubt his conclusions. “Maybe we’re on a wrong track.”

Master Dapatian touched his wrist gently. “Don’t lose hope yet, apprentice. Check the last name.”

Obi-Wan keyed in Cantonica’s localisation and stared at the map. The system was rather small, composed of a yellow-and-blue circumbinary planet and a small blue moon. It was part of the corporate sector, who possessed star remnants. And he could see it now, just a parsec away from Cantonica’s system. The blue-and-green nebulae.

“It’s here. He’s on Cantonica, in The Canto Bight Casino,” whispered Obi-Wan. 

“Congratulations, Padawan. You have found your delinquent.” The elderly Jedi’s eyes crinkled in the corners. His happiness tasted sweet though the Force.

“It was possible thanks to you, Master Dapatian!”

“Jedi Seers like me have a strange reputation that I don’t always understand, I must confess. People seem to think we only deal with mystical considerations –although I’m convinced most of our work resides in deduction and analysis!”

“It’s a bit of a discovery for me, too,” admitted the apprentice. “I’ve not heard about Jedi Seer very much since the Crèche.”

“Let me give you a piece of advice then, young man.” Poli Dapatian’s features were serious but encouraging as he continued. “You described yourself as paralyzed in your vision, unable to act or to turn your head. I know this lack of control may have been frightening but it’s usual for untrained Jedi. Force-sensitive individuals close to the unifying Force –as you are, may have occasionally this kind of premonitions. However, if you seem particularly sensitive to this phenomena, training could be the solution to master your latent ability. A trained Jedi Seer can move and to focus during a vision; they learn to control it.”

“I will think about that, Master Dapatian,” promised the teenager.

“That’s all I can ask of you. Oh, just a last question. Your hooligan, is he a darksider?”

Obi-Wan froze. How could he have guessed it? “Yes, he is.”

“You know, Jedi Seers were considered a vital part of the Order, hundreds of years ago. They were the first to feel the presence of the Sith and served as an initial alert. Now it’s a less pursued vocation. But I don’t feel as if our role as ended yet.” Poli Dapatian pressed his shoulder affectionately. “Please, don’t hesitate to come back toward me if you have questions, apprentice.”

* * *

Qui-Gon stared at the three Jedi standing in front of him. All council members, they were quietly waiting for his answer, the Force dancing and whispering around them. His former Master’s eyes were half-closed but the Nyaman knew all his attention was focused on the moment. Mace’s hands were clasped in his back; he was looking at Saesee Tiin. The male Iktotchi had small spots of dark grease on his hands; Qui-Gon guessed he must have spent some quality time at the ship launching bay.

“Yes, my Padawan and I are ready for our next mission. Our time on Nima was beneficial to both of us.”

“The next step will be to send you on Telos, then,” assumed Mace.

“But waiting for you, your former apprentice might be,” stressed Master Yoda. “Bold he was, when the Temple he attacked. And this time, the home-court advantage he will have. Lead you easily into a trap he could.”

“That is a risk Master, but can we afford not taking it?”

The grave faces of the three Jedi confirmed his sentiments.

Saesee Tiin’s low voice filled the small room. “I’m afraid to say that we collected very few information about Talos since Xanatos du Crion rose to power. The planet’s not really open to foreigners.” He seized his datapad and switched it on. “My Padawan still compiled our recent intelligence. She noted the unemployment rate decreased strongly and a new gambling fancy seems to have taken the inhabitants. Corporations’ weight increased in consequence. When you discover the most influent of them is the Offworld Mining Corporation, you quickly realize it’s not a good evolution,” he added, touching absent-mindedly his long horns.

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Enter you can, young Padawan.”

His autumn-head boy opened the door and closed it behind him, walking silently toward them. Once again, Qui-Gon was surprised to see how much his boy had grown. He was reaching toward his fifteenth nameday. His apprentice was growing –even he still seemed small compared to his Master’s unmatchable height. His shoulders were broader, his bones aching when he tried to sleep. The Nyaman had discovered camomile tea helped him to ride those pains and often prepared him a cup when his Padawan folded his legs beneath him, wincing. His voice made funny noises too, just as Xanatos’ did, wavering between a high-pitched tone and a low hoarse one.

Human puberty seemed more painful and sudden than Nyaman’s one.

“Masters.” Obi-Wan bowed before his elders. “I come from the Archives and I may have new information.”

“May? Do or do not, young Padawan,” chided gently Master Yoda.

“I do then,” corrected his boy. “I had another vision concerning Xanatos and studied it with Master Dapatian. It suggested strongly that we would him not find him on Telos.”

“Humm? Where would he be, then?”

Obi-Wan’s words became the focus of attention. He bore their scrutiny well, his back remaining straight. A year ago, he would have hunched his shoulders. Now, the only sign of his embarrassment was his deep red ears. “Apparently on Cantonica.”

“This is a good place for a businessman to find investors,” commented Saesee Tiin. “They will also close their eyes to his more doubtful activities.”

“Sure of your deduction, you are?” inquired Master Yoda, walking toward Obi-Wan. “Feel that Xanatos is on Cantonica you do?”

“Yes, Master. I am.”

“This could give us an advantage,” added Mace Windu. “However, we’ll have to think of another strategy. Something undercover could be more adapted to the situation.”

Qui-Gon winced internally –if there was one field in which he didn’t excel in, it was undercover missions. He was just too recognizable, too different. Nyamans didn’t often travel off-planet. In fact, he was the only one of his species who had done it to his knowledge. As a sentient plant, he attracted _too much attention._

One could say he was a burden when it came to infiltration missions.

“We’ll create another plan,” confirmed the Iktotchi Master, staring at Qui-Gon and his Padawan. The Nyaman was sure he was having some similar thought. “And we’ll need some help.”


	18. Going All In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter of our new arc!   
> I hope you'll enjoy it <3

The starship’s humming lulled Obi-Wan. It wasn’t as noisy as usual but their transport was singular, indeed. No rough durasteel here, no paint put hastily on the metallic hull. No uncomfortable seats nor utilitarian bunk. The corridors were polished, dark blue with soft lights pleasant to the eyes. Most of the common rooms featured wall-to-wall carpeting and large armchair or long velvet seats. They could have accommodated a dozen people here. However, this comfortable star yacht only carried three passengers.

The teenager lay down on a couch. He stretched his back and bit his lips in amusement when he realised he couldn’t touch both ends –the velvet seat was too large for this.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable, Obi-Wan.”

The Padawan laughed and turned his head, looking at his brother-Padawan. Feemor’s eyes were half-closed and his snout wrinkled in cheerfulness.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen such a beautiful ship! The last one was great for a shuttle –I’ve sent you a picture, it was a brand-new model. But this… Usually, Jedi don’t use pleasance ships, they only confiscate them!”

“I’ve travelled on some beautiful yachts with diplomates for negotiations. Naboo’s ones are particularly elegant.” Feemor walked toward the nearby couch and sat on it. He ran his three-fingered hands on the soft fabric and sighed, head tilted backwards. The Knight opened his left eye, watching his companion. “I will confess Chandrilan pleasance ships were my favourite. They have large transparisteel bays and small resilient plants. You don’t feel caged in them.”

“How do you think the Order got that one?” Inquired Obi-Wan, shifting on the cushions.

“You know, once in a while, important people leave gifts in their will to the Order. There’s a tradition on Alderaan for example –as a rich Core world, they give us resources equal to the coronation spending each time a new king is crowned. It’s part of their redistribution of wealth’s campaign whose goal is to reinforce the Galactic Republic’s unity. Beside those praiseworthy initiatives, there are the eccentrics.”

“The eccentrics?”

“People loving to disappear in a glorious feat. Old widowed women disapproving their son’s way-of-life, former criminals trying to redeem themselves, rich politicians wanting to go down on history… They bequeath their goods to us.”

“You seems very informed about this,” noted Obi-Wan.

“I’ve made a few asset inventories since I was knighted. We can inherit strange things, indeed! But the Order always tries to find some utility to them. This kind of pleasance ship used for undercover missions comes from those donations.”

“What other kinds of strange objects did you list?” Asked the Padawan, intrigued.

“Humm, let me think…” Feemor closed his eyes and rubbed his snout. “There were good ones, like a rare weapons’ collector who gave us his collection. It was the work of his life! A beautiful set. He was sick and didn’t have any heir. His sister had joined the Order when he was a child and it gave him the idea to bequeath his belongings to us. The ancient blasters, slugthrowers, vibro-lances and deflector shields included in his collection were added to the Temple’s Weapon room. They are studied by scholars or used for demonstrations. He even had two old lightsabers who joined our own collection.

“Otherwise, we receive art pieces from time to time. Some are exhibited in the Temple and others are sold during auctions to cover our expenses. Rich or civilian clothes are repurposed for undercover missions, furniture can be used to furnish Jedi living-quarters… I know for sure that Tahl’s green synthleather couch was obtained that way!”

“Are they some goods the Order can’t find a utility in?”

“Sometimes. I remember a Metellos’ politician with a dubious reputation who gave all his belongings to the Temple. Thousands and thousands of objects had to be sorted out. It was a real nightmare. I thought the Quartermaster was going to Fall,” Feemor chuckled. “There were useful stuff and useless one. I remember he had dozens of luxury lingerie sets who ended in the bin.”

“Luxury underwear? Why would someone give that to the Jedi?” asked Obi-Wan, puzzled.

“Some people have strange ideas,” answered mysteriously Feemor. He tapped affectionately on the Padawan’s bare ankles, resting beside his hip.

The lounge door slid to the right and a tall figure entered.

“There you are, my Padawans. All is well for the moment, the autopilot is activated-” The voice paused. “But I see you weren’t really worried about it. Are you comfortably settled down?”

“Very, Master!” Answered cheekily Obi-Wan.

“You look like large worms, slumped on those seats. I didn’t know I’ve raised two invertebrates!”

Two lianas sneaked up along the velvet couch and brushed the Padawan’s armpits. The teenager let out a high-pitched giggle, twisted on the seat and promptly fell on the floor at his Master’s roots.

“Perfect, I can sit down now.”

Qui-Gon took his place and Feemor sniggered as the teenager’s crumpled form.

“You were right, my apprentice. Those are mighty seats.”

Obi-Wan tried to get up but something seized his leg and stopped him. He tilted his head forward and checked his calves –nothing was restraining them.

“Master? Did you just…?”

The Nyaman acted casual as if he had done nothing. Feemor hid his face in his hands, smothering his laugh. “When you told us to avoid inappropriate use of the Force…”

Obi-Wan smiled and put his head down slowly on the carpeted floor. He chose not to be annoyed; in his heart, he felt blessed to share this tender moment with the two Jedi, away from the etiquette. They needed levity and joy before their mission began.

The teenager knew the following days promised to be far more difficult. 

* * *

“I wanted to thank you again.”

Feemor, who was rummaging through the wardrobe to select tomorrow infiltration’s outfit, paused, a hat in his hands. He didn’t turn around as he answered.

“There’s no problem. I’m glad to be here, too.”

He thought the subject was closed but the figure behind him made to sign to leave the room.

“Obi-Wan and I wouldn’t have been able to carry out this assignment alone.” A silence, then: “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Xanatos has a knack to put us in dangerous situations. And I’ll admit our plan’s rather thin. I feel like we’re on the edge of an abyss –something is going to happen Feemor, something big.”

There was a hesitant step behind him. The Caamasi stared furiously at the stupid green flowery cap he was holding.

“My Knight. There’s no one else I would rather choose to face this darkness with.”

The Jedi took another step forward and put a liana gently on his shoulder. The weight was a comforting one.

Feemor had long past the time he needed the Nyaman’s approval. He was a Jedi Knight on his own, defending the Republic with his words and his wits. He had travelled on dozens of worlds, met countless different individuals, had fallen in love and found friends. He had honed his link to the Force as some hones their blades.

But hidden inside him the small boy he had been crowed. He didn’t have the heart to stifle him. His Master had never been sparing with compliments; the Nyaman had always recognized Feemor’s successes and rewarded him consequently. It had been a real motivator for him during his apprenticeship. He had bloomed under Qui-Gon’s soft voice and attentive guidance.

The rift created by Xanatos’s betrayal had deprived him of this.

There was, therefore, something powerful with being, once again, overtly praised by the Jedi who raised him.

Feemor leaned a bit backward, into his Master’s gentle touch. He didn’t express his thoughts –it was too early for this. He wasn’t ready. He finally turned a bit and showed Qui-Gon the green cap.

“I would be ridiculous with this on my head, wouldn’t I?”

* * *

This was the plan:

Feemor and Obi-Wan would land on Cantonica under false identities. They would infiltrate the Canto Bight Casino, melt into the crowd and localize du Crion. They would confirm his presence to Qui-Gon, who would stay in the ship –he was too recognizable and Xanatos had to be taken by surprise.

Then, they would draw him away from the civilians and contact Qui-Gon to capture him –if possible. If not, they would have to take every measure necessary to make sure he would not endanger more lives.

.

When Obi-Wan left the ship, walking finally on Cantonica’s dry earth, he wasn’t Jedi apprentice anymore. He was a Hosnian teenager with bright hair, a thin braid decorated with pearls woven around his head. As the fashion dictated it on the Core planet, he wore a large but delicate blue tunic embroidered with precious metallic threads and soft beige pants. The synthleather bag hanging from his shoulders furthered his persona.

Ben wasn’t only a teenager eager to leave his homeworld. He was also the very young and bright assistant of Sir Fern, a rich Caamasi heir businessman in his spare time, who took great joy at gambling his father’s hard-won money.

He concentrated not to react when a voice whispered in his mind, “May the Force be with you.” Ben wasn’t Force-sensitive and he probably didn’t believe in it. The prayer still warmed his heart, invisible to the passer-byes.

The boy followed Feemor out of the spaceport and toward the city center. His pointed and furred ears were turning and twisting, listening to the chatting around them. The Knight was wearing a long burgundy robe. The large golden pectoral with cloisonné inlays of gemstones suspended to his neck shone under the sun’s sharp light.

“Are you sure he won’t be able to recognize you?” The apprentice breathed.

“Certain. He never spent much time around me; I wasn’t interesting enough.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t understand how the former Jedi could have thought that. The Caamasi’s Knight was so _light_ , attentive and anchored to the Force. One man's trash is another man's treasure, he supposed.

The coastal road was pleasant. The cobbled way gave an incredible viewpoint of Canto Bight’s bay and its sandy beaches. The sun was slowly going down, colouring the sea an intense orange. The air was hot nonetheless with no fresh breeze to cool down the mute spectators, rapt with wonder. A few dozens of individuals were still enjoying the sea’s attractions.

“The ocean seems very different from Chandrila’s one,” remarked Obi-Wan. “There’s almost no waves.”

“There’s an explanation to this,” replied Feemor. “The Sea of Cantonica is an artificial one –the biggest in the Galaxy. It was created fifty years ago. The project was gigantic; thousands of workers and droids worked on it for ten years. The polemics were endless, too –who would be mad enough to create a sea from scrap on a desert planet? They still managed to do it. The illusion is almost perfect –unless you’re observing Cantonica from space. The ocean’s shape appeared too artificial to be completely natural.”

Obi-Wan’s throat seemed dry. “Why would they do that? It’s … colossal! And senseless! Is there even fishes in this sea?” He had difficulties to add this new knowledge to the beautiful spectacle of the sea swallowing the sun on the horizon. “… This place still possesses its own kind of magic,” he finally admitted.

“Yes. It’s strange, delightful and absurd at the same time –like all living creature, really.”

The apprentice giggled softly and turned his head around. “Now, we have to find our way to the Casino.”

“Let’s follow the crowd,” suggested the Jedi Knight. “I saw a few well-dressed individuals heading toward the esplanade. I would bet my pectoral they’re searching for a nice place to enjoy their evening- just like us, Ben!”

The two undercover Jedi explored the small streets climbing toward the vast esplanade who overlooked the coastal city. The buildings were small and high with ochre housefronts and square windows. Obi-Wan had the puzzling impression the habitations had been created this way to add character to the freshly-built town.

They finally arrived on a large circular plaza whose ground was made of precious stones. At its center stood a fathier’s sculpture. The quadruped was represented jumping toward the sky, its furred skin cast in bronze glittering under the street’s artificial lights. The Padawan’s attention was, however, caught by the gigantic edifice standing at the other side of the square. Pure white walls darted toward the sky, crowned by a succession of broad transparisteel domes.

“I think we’ve found our stage, Ben.” Feemor activated his comm and left a short message. “Entering the Casino, Master.” The Knight turned afterwards toward him. “Are you ready, dear assistant?”

Obi-Wan smiled, anxiety and excitement twisting in his stomach. “Ready, Sir.”

The Casino’s hall was huge and dripping with wealth. They followed an elegant couple walking on a red carpet steadfastly cleaned by a mouse droid. The two Jedi paused in front of a silver-blue protocol unit serving as a greeter.

“Welcome to the Canto Bight Casino! We are always grateful to meet new faces. May I ask for your names?”

“I am Fern Att’Kat, from Hosnian Prime and this is my personal assistant Ben Maari.”

“I’m creating your new accounts. If you desire it, you can already exchange money against counters usable in the Casino. We’re accepting almost all currencies, except Batuuan Spiras.”

“I wish to trade some Republic credits,” confirmed Feemor, holding out his credit chip to the droid.

The protocol unit inserted it in his computer and touch a few time the hidden screen. Less than thirty seconds later, a black valet droid came from an adjacent room carrying a velvet purse.

“Here are your counters. Please, be mindful with them. Don’t forget them on a table; the House won’t refund stolen currencies. You’ll be able to make additional exchanges with all 3PO models stamped by the Company’s mark present in the Casino. Enjoy your visit!”

The two Jedi walked through the crystal door and entered into the main rooms. The place was already crowd by the Casino’s patrons. Obi-Wan could see countless card tables under the large dome. The atmosphere was hushed, dominated by dark and white colours. On a round stage in the middle of the room, a Bith band played jizz. The bass viol musician was doing his solo, an upbeat and swinging piece.

“Let’s take a look around,” suggested Feemor. “As discreetly as possible. We’re new clients, after all.”

The Knight and he went from a table to another, searching for a familiar face in the crowd. Obi-Wan saw five Pykes wearing breathing apparatus and lead-lined clothes designed to help them to thrive under this climate, so different from their homeworld’s one. He had heard from Garen’s letters that their illicit trade was flourishing in the Outer –Rim territories. In consequence, the Order had begun to stick their nose into their business. To their right, a group of female Umbarans, tall and ashen-face, clad in thin violet robes, were making their way toward the Casino’s 3PO models. Their proud air and noble bearing caught the apprentice’s attention.

There was all kind of individuals here. Humans and insectoids, reptilians enjoying the Casino’s hot spotlights and indeterminate species choosing a seat to bet their counters. One thing was sure: this place seemed to welcome the Galaxy’s wealthier inhabitants, ready to pray the gambling gods and to build fulfilling business relationships.

“I’ve not seen our friend yet,” whispered Feemor in his ear. Obi-Wan bit his lips, a sour taste filling his mouth. He found himself doubting his conclusions. _What if Xanatos wasn’t here? What if he was still on Telos, drinking wine and laughing at their mistakes?_

The Knight must have felt something because he squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ben. I’m going to try my chance at a table. Maybe you could talk to our fellow gamblers; they may have information on our friend.”

The Padawan stared at the Caamasi’s back as he retreated toward the center of the room.

_Time to play alone, I guess._

He wandered a few minutes between the alleys and finally settled beside the bar. The teenager ordered an alcohol-free cocktail -surprisingly numerous on the menu. He assumed many gamblers wanted to keep their mind straight to avoid losing money wastefully. The valet droid gave him a pink-and-orange drink with a small umbrella. The apprentice used it to blend the two colours together.

“Hey kid, what are you doing here?”

Obi-Wan turned his head to the left; a small Advozse was looking at him, a thin crystal glass in his hand. His skin was as dark as the earth, clad of red leather. He had black round gleaming eyes and a single horn protruding from his hairless head.

“I’m not a kid,” he replied almost automatically.

The humanoid chuckled. He had a low laugh pleasant to the ears.

“Maybe, but you’re certainly not of age!”

“It’s true,” admitted the young man. “I’m accompanying my employer. He’s trying his hand at Pazaak.”

“Your employer? It’s a business trip, then?” The Advozse sat beside him.

“I’m his personal assistant. You could say the goals are mixt, pleasure and business intertwined.”

“I’ve never heard a more accurate definition of this place!” The male saluted him with his glass.

“You’re here for business too?”

“Who isn’t?” The Advozse smiled and shrugged. “Maybe the few Mon Calamaris over there.”

“Why them?” Inquired the young man, intrigued by the strange humanoid’s reasoning.

“Because gambling is prohibited on Mon Cala. It’s the case on Seranno and Zygerria, too. The wealthy inhabitants of those worlds were therefor important sponsors of the Canto Bight Casino’s erection. Their planets are not far away from here; they can travel to Cantonica in a few hours and bet here without been sanctioned.”

“But aren’t the richest people often linked to the government? Couldn’t they create a lobby to change the law?”

“I like you; you’ve got a sharp mind! I can see why someone would have chosen you as their assistant. Yes, they could have done something against this law. But they didn’t. It’s a good way to appear clean, honest and stemmed in moral values to the population. The elite can easily go off-world to drink and gamble. The common people can’t and ended in jail for indulging their vices. They were lots of Telosians for this reason until recently.”

“Telosians?”

“From Telos, not very far away from here. Gambling was forbidden here, too. Until a few months ago! I heard it almost became an institutionalised sport, now.”

_What an interesting piece of information!_

Obi-Wan played with his glass; his hands were becoming moist from nerves. He had to make the Advozse talk –the humanoid could have some news on Xanatos. But he must do it _discreetly_.

“That’s a radical change. I wonder what could have led to it…”

“It seemed honestly inevitable. Telos’s own ruler often came here for business. I know for sure he likes a good game of Hintaro!”

“Alas, if he decriminalized gambling I suppose he doesn’t come here anymore. He must be able to indulge his vices at home. That’s a loss for the Casino.”

“He still comes here from time to time,” The Advozse shrugged. “More for business than for pleasure now.”

“And you,” inquired Obi-Wan, “How do you spend your time here?”

“Ah! I love dice games. It’s my weakness I suppose. You know, there’s no Casino on my homeworld, Riflor. Not because they are forbidden,” he added when he saw Obi-Wan’s face, “but because our settlements always stay rudimentary. We live on a volcanic planet on which eruptions are common. We rebuild our houses from scrap often once or twice a year. It is said that as a species, we do not believe in material goods.”

The apprentice immediately saw a flaw in his reasoning. “If you do not believe in material goods, what are you doing in a Casino?”

The humanoid burst into laughter. “Because I believe in money! I need to accumulate it to build each year a new roof over my head!”

The Padawan couldn’t help himself; he smiled at the Advozse’s words. He had a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that made him quite friendly.

“And you, kid, where are you from?”

“I hail from Hosnian Prime.”

“Oh, that is a high-contrast planet. They have some of the best academies in the Galaxy. They’re also champions of the Republic. On the other side, they benefit from slavery.”

Obi-Wan chocked on his cocktail. “What?” He knew that he wasn’t born on the Core planet but felt compelled to defend its reputation nonetheless. “The Republic doesn’t allow slavery! And Hosnian Prime is part of it!”

“They don’t sell slaves in the markets if that’s what you’re talking about. But they’re in collusion with slavers. Look at the guards standing under the black curtains.” The Padawan turned his head and stared at the two Duros watching over the wealthy patrons. Their blue hands were holding long riffles. “Their weapons are Czerka 4000, a model of snub-nosed blaster rifles. They can shot nine times before their power pack needs to be recharged. A great innovation! They are also manufactured by Czerka Arms, a corporation whose workforce is mostly made of slaves. Some of their factories are hosted by Hosnian Prime.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know how to answer. He kept staring at the blasters, imagining the hands who built them. Hurt hands, small hands. Unwilling ones.

“That’s one thing to think about, young man. I know that I won’t anything about it. I’m too old, too set in my ways. But you’re still young –you have the chance to be better than us.”

The Advozse rose and squeezed his shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, kid; the dices are calling me.”

The Padawan watched the gambler losing himself in the crowd. He felt troubled by their conversation, more than he should be knowing he was still in the middle of a delicate undercover mission. Obi-Wan tried to center himself again, focusing on his empty glass. His job wasn’t done yet. Maybe it was time to join Feemor again.

He got up, saluting the valet droid before he began to walk toward the card tables. He could see Feemor’s recognizable silhouette, sitting beside a red-skinned Devaronian. The Knight’s furred ears were twitching as he looked at his cards. Four green counters were aligned before him.

The Padawan smiled and stretched out his hands, ready to seize the Caamasi’s shoulder. His eyes rose and froze. There, leaning on a column two dozen feet away from him was a man with long dark hair. The Casino’ lights were good enough for him to see his face. His nose was long, his features thin.

He had a mark on his cheek.

Obi-Wan activated his comm and whispered: “We’ve found Xanatos.”


	19. The Winner Takes It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally outside of my house! I'm enjoying the holidays in the south, in Dordogne. It's really hot down there but there are castles, caves with calcite speleothems and palaeolithic archaeological sites. My definition of paradise.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter wherever you are! <3

Feemor looked at the cards in his three-fingered hands. Their values were not too high nor too low. _Not bad. Luck seems to be with me tonight. I could win this round._

His gambling table was half-full but observed by many patrons. To his right, a sand-coloured skinned Arcona with a triangular head sipped his green cocktail. He had a run of wins and accumulated high-valued counters on three tall piles. Sitting on his left, the horned Devaronian seemed half-amused, half-concerned by his diminishing resources.

The Humanoid smiled, showing his pointy teeth. “Lady Luck isn’t on my side, yet. Maybe I should give her an offering. I would hate returning home without a sizable amount of credits in my purse –my spouse would kill me!”

He turned toward their croupier, a female Delphidian with leathery, finely striated dark skin. “Would it be possible to do a short blessing before the next round begin?”

“There’s no rule against it,” commented the Casino’s employee. “And I would hate to be the cause of a failing wedding.”

The Devaronian took a large golden coin out of his pocket. He turned it seven times between his digits. “Valorous Mother, may thou hark that prayer and bless thee hand who plead thou. For this is a nurturing hand whose only goal is to return on thy lands. Lend me the shade of thy greatness for’t would be enough to drape me whole.”

He rubbed the coin slightly at the base of his two ivory horns and put it back into his pocket.

“Let’s hope I won’t lose again!”

The Delphidian croupier started to reveal her two cards. “Fifteen. Sirs, it’s your turn.”

Feemor estimated he could bet on his victory. He should be able to surpass the employee’s total while remaining under the fatal number, the twentieth. “I’m adding two hundred,” he finally said, putting four black counters before him.

The Arcona shook his head sadly. “I’m handing over the lead.”

Three counters were put on the table by the last player.

“Time to ask for one more card if you desire it, gentlebeings!”

When their hands were finally revealed, the Devaronian moaned. “That’s it, my spouse will ask for a divorce. Let’s hope my coin will, at last, give me luck and help me to find a good lawyer.”

“I’ve heard Devaron’s judicial system is biassed against males. I wish you good fortune my friend; you may need it,” replied the Arcona with a hoarse voice.

Compassion rushed into Feemor’s veins. He didn’t envy his companion’s situation. If the context had been different, he may have let the humanoid win the round. However, the credit he was betting tonight had been loaned by the Order, and Mace’s face when had given him the credit chip had discouraged him to be overly generous toward his adversaries.

He didn’t want to gain a subscription to the most annoying and tedious missions for the next two years, thank you very much.

The Knight was ready to get up and try another game when a hand landed on his shoulder. Feemor turned his head and saw blue eyes on a well-known pale face. His sensible ears twitched as the teenager whispered quietly his information to him.

The words immobilized him as surely as a durasteel chain. 

_Xanatos the fallen is here._

The Knight concentrated to relax his tense muscles. “And where is our friend..?”

“Just behind the pillar near the sabacc’s table.”

“Very good. I wish you a good night, gentlebeings! I fear my assistant needs me.”

His fellow gamblers saluted him and Feemor moved away from the crowd, careful to keep his former brother-Padawan in his vision’s field. Obi-Wan followed him dutifully into a darker corner. The Knight didn’t like to speak in riddles but he also didn’t want to take any unnecessary risk –Xanatos wasn’t a Jedi anymore but he was still Force-sensitive. He couldn’t do anything that might alert him before they were ready. 

“Did you call the person in charge of our business?”

“I commed him already.”

“Great. You’ve done a good job, Ben.”

The teenager smiled at his compliment, his ears becoming red. In the Force, he looked like a flower blooming under the praise. _He’s such a nice kid. Qui-Gon’s so lucky to have found him._

“Now, our priority is to isolate him. There are too many civilians here and we don’t want them to become causalities. We also have to eliminate his back doors.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes shone with excitement. _He must have a Sith of an idea._ “Maybe we could blow his ship? Or severely maim it. It would catch his attention and draw him outside. His way-out will also be compromised.”

_That… could work actually._ “It’s more radical than what I would have planned but it’s a good idea. Let’s contact our favourite houseplant.”

The apprentice’s face was worth the bad joke. “Houseplant?” He repeated voicelessly.

Feemor took his comm and typed quickly a message.

_I heard his ship was going to have an accident. What a mess! He won’t be able to go off-planet easily now._

A few seconds later, his screen displayed an answer. _Got it.  
_

* * *

Identifying Xanatos’ ship wasn’t overly difficult; the boy always had particular tastes. Qui-Gon might also have been helped by the low number of transports coming from Telos and a rather weak-minded quartermaster.

He still felt a large amount of satisfaction when he began to smash the thing to pieces.

It reminded him of their shattered trust, their shattered life. Qui-Gon hadn’t wanted to admit Xanatos’ betray had such dire consequences for a long time. He had hidden comfortably under pretences: _No, he never wanted to have another student. His teaching had been so obviously misused! He didn’t want to teach. He clearly wasn’t meant to._

He had rarely said: _I loved him so much, you know. This boy, I watched him grow, I guarded his sleep when he was tired, when he was sick. I can’t give another child the weapons to wound me. This time, I’m not sure I would survive it._

The truth was that something vital in him had been badly shaken, misaligned.   
His ability to trust himself and the others had been damaged. His self-esteem, his confidence in his teaching and in the Force had been smashed.

He could recognize it because the wound was slowly closing, scar tissue covering it. It was tender but healing.

Time had come to confront Xanatos. Qui-Gon was as ready as he could be –because there was no place for this ghost in his life anymore.

* * *

If things had been simple, Xanatos would have been overpowered and captured outside the Casino, when he went to record his ship’s damages. But the former Jedi was cunning, perceptive and above all else resourceful. He froze on the plaza like a fathier caught by highlights, feeling the trap closing around him in the Force and _fled_.

He was a fast and agile bugger, too.

He ran toward the edge of the esplanade and jumped. Xanatos crouched low, landing on a faintly inclined roof. Then he continued to race ahead without looking back.

_Usually, I have the impression he can’t shut up. I guess his situation is too dire this time for him to start a diatribe against our Master._

Obi-Wan dashed after him, sensing Feemor doing the same beside him. He leapt on the top of the house, avoiding the crooked antenna, rushing in his wake. The stone slates creaked under his feet, a strange metallic and earthy sound who made his ears ached. The teenager tried not to focus on it and to concentrate on the Force, on Xanatos’ movements. The night had fallen hours ago and the poor light coming from the street lamps didn’t reach the roofs. He could barely see where he was going and the fallen Jedi’s silhouette was undistinctive, moving forwards in the dark like a shade.

The fallen Jedi was running away from the city center, towards the sea and the less populated areas. _Toward the second spaceport, too._ Quickly, the building changed and the flat housetops became sloping roofs.

Obi-Wan tried not to mind and carried on. He jumped higher than he ever did in his life, ran faster than he believed possible on slippery tiles. The hot air made him sweat and his braided hair started to fall in his face, the hairpins getting loose. His tunic embroidered with precious metallic threads felt heavy on his shoulder, hitting his torso each time he landed on another roof.

_What an incommoding outfit,_ he thought absently as he leapt forwards. _I will never complain about the Padawan’s uniform again._

Something flew toward him and Obi-Wan barely had the time to duck, hearing the object break on a higher wall. The apprentice didn’t look behind, concentrated on his footwork. He couldn’t afford to fall from the housetop. Three other unidentified missiles rushed past him, crashing loudly on the stone slates. A Force-imprint was obviously stamped on them –to be honest, time wasn’t for subtlety.

_The tiles! Xanatos was tampering with the tiles!_

The stone slates were smashing around him, sharp shards biting into his under-protected legs. Obi-Wan clenched his teeth and dash forwards, feeling the tiles giving way beneath him. He was still too far away from Xanatos, on the other building. He had to speed up, had to stop him…

The roof collapsed. Obi-Wan gained momentum and jumped.

Feemor’s ankle twisted in the wrong direction and snapped. He tumbled and hit the floor, hard.

“Go, go!” Pressed the Knight. “Don’t wait for me!”

Hesitation tore Obi-Wan. Should he really put Xanatos’ capture before his brother-Padawan safety? The Force murmured in his ear –not with words but with impressions and sensations. He had to leave. So the Padawan didn’t stop. Moving away from Feemor’s reassuring presence, well-known to him, made his heart ached.

A dull pain was coming from his legs and his lungs were burning. The fallen Jedi was still ahead of him and they were reaching the outskirts of Canto Bight. Xanatos didn’t seem to be tiring and the Padawan couldn’t run faster –not when he was still avoiding some flying tiles. Hopelessness was a trickling down inside him as he reached the large warehouses. _I will not be able to catch up with him._

_Xanatos was going to get away with this, again_.

A blurred form crashed into the tall man’s silhouette, throwing him on the dusty floor. Obi-Wan didn’t recognize him straight away. He took advantage of the situation, covering the distance between them. A long appendage tried to trip the former Jedi, who recovered gracefully. The Padawan switched on the lightsaber hidden beneath his tunic and smiled.

Across him, Master Qui-Gon’s deep green blade shone in the darkness. His voice was low and filled the deserted area.

“It’s the end of the road, Xanatos. Time to stop fleeing.”

* * *

“You again, Qui-Gon? Don’t you feel tired following me around?”

The Jedi Master stared at the young man standing before him. He was dressed elegantly but his long and dark hair was sweaty, glued on his forehead. Words escaped him again –he didn’t know what to say to these familiar sharp blue eyes.

“I’m here to bring you to justice,” he finally answered.

Xanatos ignite his red blade, a smirk painted on his face.

“That’s not going to happen,” the human taunted.

His attack was quick but a bit sloppy. He lunged toward the Nyaman, swinging his lightsaber upward. Qui-Gon intercepted his strike and their weapons clashed in a loud noise. Red against green, their blades vibrated between them.

The Jedi Master could feel Obi-Wan launching an attack to his left. In a flash, the blue saber rushed toward their adversary’s unprotected hip. Xanatos had to pull out from Qui-Gon’s grip and rolled away.

The fallen Jedi tried a few audacious strikes on his former Master, failing each time to touch him. The Nyaman recognized a few Djem So movements mixed with unfamiliar fencing techniques. Gradually, it appeared that Xanatos’ fighting skills, although good, were not as great and deadly as they had been a few years ago. It was logical, Qui-Gon acknowledged. The man hadn’t had any worthwhile opponent wielding lightsabers nor had he been able to hone his proficiency with teachers since he left the Order.

The fallen Jedi must have reached the same conclusion because he changed his strategy. He focused on Obi-Wan, raining strong blows on him, forcing him to move backwards.   
His apprentice was talented but he couldn’t do anything against those powerful attacks, all his energy consumed by the need to block each of them. His arms were trembling under the strain.

Qui-Gon tried to find some openings but they were few –Xanatos was effectively boxing his boy in. Adrenaline flew beneath his bark. The man brought his lightsaber down again, keeping Obi-Wan in a defensive stance. The boy stumbled a bit but remained standing. As a hound smelling a weakness, Xanatos smiled. He moved his shoulders backwards and raised his lightsaber, ready to strike him down.

_There_. Xanatos had always been overconfident, even when he had been at the best of his capacity. He hadn’t put much work into improving his little flaws. His execution of the ‘fallen avalanche’ attack, for instance, always left his right side vulnerable.

Qui-Gon swung his blade and slashed his torso.

Xanatos gasped and staggered backwards. Nobody moved for a second. The former Jedi’s face was strained by the pain. His loud and jerky breath seemed to echo with the small waves crashing below on the rocks.

Qui-Gon wasn’t a healer but he knew the wound was serious. Blood wasn’t soaking his clothes as the skin was cauterized. However, several tender organs and internal tissues had been on the blade’s path –some must have suffered extensive damages. Xanatos was already turning pale, having difficulties to breathe. His fingers were spasming around his weapon.

A fourth silhouette approached them. Feemor. The Knight was leaning to the left, avoiding to put his weight on his injured ankle.

“That’s it, Xanatos. It’s the end.” Qui-Gon’s voice remained calm even if his emotions roared inside him like a storm, fear, adrenaline and self-hatred mixed together. “You’re too wounded to leave the planet or to beat us. You need emergency care. It’s three against one, now. Drop your weapons –we’re going to heal you then bring you to justice.”

The man shook his head. “I’m not going to do that. I’m never entering the Temple again –not without the arms to blow it up.”

“Why would you say that? Your grief is against me –not against the Order as a whole. I opposed myself to your father and you chose him. You chose your birth family. And when I became a threat to them you ignited your lightsaber and turned it against me.”

“Do you really think everything revolves around you?”

“Didn’t it? You always came back to fight me, you- you collared my new apprentice!” The last words were almost shouted with frustration.

“I hate you as I hate the Jedi! You’re the perfect example of their errancy. They deprived me of who I was born to be. They deprived me of my roots, my soil and my heritage. They stole me to my rightful family!”

“You were given by your parents! You were a happy child.”

“I wasn’t,” Xanatos contradicted. “I always felt shaky, empty. As if I was lacking something, like a hollowed-out tree. I was adrift. The Order –and you –deprived me of something I needed. If I became hungry afterwards –that’s your fault. Bandomeer, Telos… It’s on your head. I lacked too much –and then I wanted it all.”

“It’s not on my head,” whispered Qui-Gon. “They were your decisions –your disasters. Maybe I had a hand in shaping you, but you chose what seed to water.”

“You’re drowning in your own lies, Qui-Gon. One thing is sure: I’m not returning to the Temple alive. I won’t submit to your laws. You failed me, Qui-Gon. Maybe you cared once, but you never understood me. That’s a fact. A fact you’ll have to live with.”

Xanatos took two wobbly steps back. The harsh dusty soil ended there, grit and sand throwing themselves into the sea many feet below. He stared at Qui-Gon in the eyes and gripped tighter his still powered-on blade. The fallen Jedi smiled and stabbed himself through the chest.

Qui-Gon found no word to say, no request to plead and pledge to scream.

Xanatos was still smiling when his body fell into the ocean. 

* * *

Cantonica’s Police joined them a dozen minutes later on their black speeder. Feemor walked toward them, grimacing a bit when his bad ankle jolted on a small rock. Qui-Gon was prostrated on the floor, staring at the dark sea. He was probably in shock. Obi-Wan was sitting by his side, his hand resting on the Nyamans’ nimble lianas.

He would have to soothe the situation himself.

“Sirs, I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

Three raised blasters answered to his declaration.

“Put your hands up! Identify yourself!”

Cooperation could only help him. The Knight put his hands in the air, palms turned toward the officers. “We’re not looking for troubles. I’m Jedi Knight Feemor Att’Kla and this is my companions, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. We came here to catch a dangerous criminal on the Republic’s behalf.”

“Do you have any proof of what you’re saying?”

“I have my lightsaber and an arrest warrant issued by the Jedi Order, co-signed by the Republic’s authorities of Coruscant.”

“We’ll keep holding you at gunpoint while you’re taking it out. You have permission to lower your arms.”

Feemor made ample movements easily trackable by the policemen, pulling the warrant from his belt. “Here.”

One of the men clothed in soft grey approached him and seized the small round device. His eyebrows rose as he activated it. The Knight stared at Xanatos’ blue three-dimensional face while the policeman read the information.

“The man broke into the Jedi Temple?! He’s got some nerves.”

“That’s why we’re pursuing him. He tried to steal from us and endangered many Jedi, including children.” Feemor paused and finally added: “He was also responsible for the death of one of our charges.”

“I suppose we’ll have to let you lead this manhunt, then.” The policeman switched off the warrant and gave him back to him.

“Actually, we might need your help. The suspect was mortally wounded and fell from the cliff. He’s dead,” explained Feemor, looking back toward his former Master’s bent form, “I don’t doubt it. However, we need to recover his body.”

The man was grimacing –he probably guessed what the Jedi meant to say.

“The body wasn’t ballasted. With the weak current, it will end washed up on the beach tomorrow. You don’t need this kind of publicity for Canto Bight, do you?”

The officer’s pinched lips answered for him. “We’re going to organize a research team. One of my men is staying with you –we’ll contact you when we have found him.”

* * *

The sky was tinged with pale yellow when the comm finally spat. “Major, we recovered the body.”

“Good, the operation’s finished. Go back to the headquarters. We’ll be joining you.”

.

.

.  
The morgue was cold, made of gleaming durasteel and white walls. The temperature contrast with the desert planet’s warm streets was striking. The officer was leading them through the corridors’ maze. Qui-Gon followed him mindlessly.

He had been ready for this confrontation. He had been ready to arrest his former Padawan, to fight him, maybe even to spill his blood.

He hadn’t been ready for his duty to lead him in this dehumanized place.

A door opened. The room was small, the air chill. There was a repulsorlift stretcher floating above the ground with a body on it.

This time, there was no misunderstanding, no white hair. The man lying on his back had a long dark mane and a scarred cheek. His clothes were soaked.

If the last hours had been kinder, Qui-Gon could have the luck to assume the man was sleeping. He would have left this hellish place with Feemor and Obi-Wan, his dear boys, and tried to forget about that. Maybe not the best coping mechanic –but there was a reason he still consulted a mind healer.

Lady luck wasn’t with him tonight.

Xanatos’ eyes might be closed, but his skin was unnaturally pale for a human. His torso was bloated. The garments he was wearing were ripped –by the attack and by the fall.   
Above all, the former Jedi’s lips were blue.

Qui-Gon could not hide his face behind his pretty lies. His twenty-five-years-old former Padawan was gone.

The Jedi Master nodded toward the officer, confirming the victim’s identification.

He left.

.

.

.

Later, on the ridiculously luxurious star yacht, Qui-Gon thought about Xanatos’ words. Had he really deprived the boy of something? Had he been so wrong, when he had trained the child? What if he had taken the man’s lightsaber after he wounded him? What if, what if…?

Xanatos had hurled at him that he had been unhappy by his side. That he had felt unsettled and hollow. The Nyaman couldn’t tell if it had been true –or if his former apprentice had searched and screamed those spiteful words just to hurt him. It was possible -Xanatos always had a cruel streak.

The Jedi Master mulled on this too long before he stopped himself. It didn’t matter anymore. It was too late. And the man who could have given him the answers he searched had killed himself.

They had trapped him but Xanatos had won, in the end. He had escaped their snare and fled out of reach. Didn’t he often say this, that he always had a back door in case of emergency?   
Qui-Gon never thought one of them would be so definitive.

Like everything revolving around Xanatos, this day had a bitter taste of unfinishedness.

A small form shifted against him. Obi-Wan had followed him in the morgue and staid by his side as he mourned lost opportunities. He now sat on the floor with him, legs coiled in a blanket.   
Qui-Gon wrapped three of his lianas around his apprentice’s torso, cuddling him. The autumn-head boy smiled a little at him as their mind brushed against each other. _What a faithful child._ His light was a blessing, keeping him on the right path.

The Jedi Master’s voice was hoarse when he tried to speak. “Have you eaten yet, Padawan?”

The teenager’s sheepish expression suggested he did not.

“Let’s eat something with Feemor; I’m sure he hasn’t prepared anything for himself, too.”

He couldn’t stay lost in the past; his two other Padawans needed him.

Qui-Gon rose and followed Obi-Wan into the corridor.


	20. A Song of Pyre and Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back from holidays!   
> Here is the next chapter, a bit late due to the complete lack of wifi where I was X)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it! <3

Death had sadly became something he was familiar with. Yet, Obi-Wan had never seen a cremation before.

He had been an Initiate when he had met death for the first time. Adi Pli, an old and gentle Jedi Master with snow-white hair, had passed away in her sleep. She had been a familiar presence to the younglings, coming to the Crèche to tell stories and paint with them on flimsiplasts. She had moved in a hoverchair, her legs too damaged to support her weight, and gave large smiles to the Initiates who hastened to help her settling down comfortably.

Their Crechemaster had told them the news in the morning, before their first meditation. She had explained Master Adi Pli’s death in the light of the Jedi code, making them repeat those lines known by heart.

_There is no death, there is the Force._

The Twi’lek said her passing was a sad event for the Order. However, they should not stay rooted in their grief. Adi Pli hadn’t really disappeared –she was one in the Force now, and they could thank her for the time passed together during their morning meditation. Obi-Wan, who had been an earnest six-years-old boy, had closed his eyes very tight and told her thank you in his mind for her kindness, the great story about Knight Turn, the tree syrup sweets and the time she said his leaf drawing was beautiful (really, he had been so sure he had made a mess of his painting).

He had gathered all those thank-yous and launched them with his mind like a balloon release. Obi-Wan had been sure he had felt a large smile in the Force at this moment -Adi Pli’s smile.

None of them had gone to the funeral.

In the afternoon, his clan-mates and he had walked two by two in the Temple’s large corridors toward the Hall of a thousand fountains, where the mourners had been gathered. Master Adi Pli had left behind two former apprentices and one Grand-Padawan who needed to feel their support. They had offered a large and colourful painting to the elder Padawan -a tall woman who earned her mastery last year. The quiet happiness in her eyes which pierced through her tears could have put a sun to shame.

There had been no cremation on Melida/Daan either. The dead weren’t left to rot on this planet –no, they were seen as victims, warriors slain by the enemy whose courage and sacrifice had to be honoured. The bodies were buried in the acidic ground during plain but emotional ceremonies. Feelings and rancor were left loose, pledges and promises of blood swore on upturned dirt.

Obi-Wan had buried two persons there –two children. He had dug the tombs in the ungrateful earth, one with Nield, one with Cerasi. The work had been a bitter and hard one. The dusty soil was rare and full of rocks. Place to inhume new corpses was lacking. And when one had been found, the mourners had to take a shovel and hollow the ground themselves. The bodies he had laid down hadn’t been covered by shrouds; the Young didn’t have enough resources to spare to permit it. They didn’t have flowers to give, nor toys and drawings to accompany the dead. They had the sweat who ran down their faces as they dug the harsh land and the regrets flowering on their lips.

The problem was: Obi-Wan had only dug two tombs. The last one had been the eleventh-years-old girl he had inhumed with Nield.

He hadn’t been able to bury Cerasi.

His dear friend’s body had disappeared, taken by Nield in the cover of the night. The teenager had come back long after the sun had risen, dust covering his hands. He had refused to tell anyone where the body had been buried.

Obi-Wan had felt like he had lost her twice.

They say time heals all wounds and the Padawan wasn’t sure of it. But his journey on Nima had allowed him to finally lay his ghosts to rest: Cerasi and Bruck -whose funeral he had deliberately avoided.

He was grateful for this and hoped he could lend his support to his Master, today. Because this afternoon, it was Qui-Gon Jinn who saying his last goodbyes to his past.

Xanatos’ death had caused an uproar on Telos. The planet had fallen into anarchy, the headless government unable to maintain itself without its leader. The political situation was dire –which could explain the fact that nobody asked for Du Crion’s body. 

Here they were now, in the Temple’s Last Chamber, gathered around the pyre. The flames climbed high into the vaulted room, devouring Xanatos’ blurred form. The air was thick with sadness and loss, the heat coming from the fire making it had to breathe. Even standing near the wall, away from the blaze, Obi-Wan’s lungs hurt.

Master Qui-Gon stood right in front of the pyre, his dark silhouette standing out from the flames’ cortege. He was immobile, lost in the moment, just like the non-sentient trees of the _Faren-ti_. Feemor, his first Padawan, remained upright by his side, braving the searing heat to support him in silence. His former teacher, Master Yoda, flew beside him in a hoverchair.

“How are you feeling, Padawan Kenobi?” A low voice inquired to his right. It was Master Windu’s. The man had put on a regal cream-coloured ceremonial outfit. It drew attention to his dark eyes, who gleamed kindly in the gloomy room.

The apprentice took the time to think about his question, analysing his emotions. “Not too bad, considering the situation.”

The Jedi Master nodded. “The departure of a soul who grew inside the Temple is always a sad event –even if this person dabbled into the dark side. Don’t misunderstand me; Du Crion had done terrible things and I can guarantee you nobody here will try to absolve him. He killed indiscriminately and plundered planets, misusing with cruelty the teaching we gave him since he was a child. It was the Order’s responsibility to stop him –definitely if needs be.” He paused, staring at the pyre. “It doesn’t make it any less terrible.”

“I wasn’t imagining it this way, the pyre,” whispered Obi-Wan. “The fire’s so hot. I couldn’t bear coming closer. It creates a distance –this is nothing like an inhumation.”

Master Windu gave him a long look. “Have you already buried someone, Padawan Kenobi?”

“I did. On Melida/Daan. A teenager –and a girl.”

A mournful note rose in the Force, coming from the Council member. It sang a bit until it disappeared. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I wish we could have come sooner.”

The teenager shrugged, embarrassed. “It’s in the past, now.”

“Do you know,” began Master Windu, “Why cremation are traditional in the Order? A few illustrious Jedi disappeared once they died. Their bodies became luminous, just as their soul, as they joined the Force. The pyre is symbolic, a crude imitation of this transfiguration. Contrary to some people’s belief, we care about our members. It’s our way to ease their passing, to help their soul to join the Galaxy’s weft.”

Obi-Wan stared at the high flames for a moment, fire and wood crackling loudly as the framework calcined, Master Windu’s comforting presence by his side. Tahl finally joined them, TooJay moving silently beside him.

“Someone is waiting for you outside, Padawan.”

“Who could it be?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

“Bant. My apprentice just came back from a piloting exam. I thought you could hang out together; I know it’s been a while since you had spare time.”

The teenager hesitated, pulled in several directions. He had missed fiercely the Mon Calamari, who he hadn’t seen as much as he wanted since Bruck and Xanatos’ plot. He knew their time with each other was a rare commodity he didn’t want to waste. On the other side, his Master needed him at his side.

“He doesn’t need you now, Obi-Wan,” Tahl whispered, shaking her head. A lock of dark hair curved between her sightless eyes. “Qui-Gon has a lot of support; he’s not alone. Enjoy your time with your friend. He would want you to.”

The teenager remembered the Nyaman’s attentive behaviour in the starship on their journey back to Coruscant and finally nodded, convinced by her argument. _Qui-Gon would not appreciate seeing me brooding over his sorrow._ Obi-Wan saluted the two Masters and looked one more time at his teacher’s statuesque silhouette before he left the Last Chamber. The bitter smell of ashes followed him down the Temple’s long corridors. 

* * *

Bant was completely fascinated by his new lightsaber.

“I’ve never seen one made of wood before!”

She turned it between her webbed fingers, caressing the coarse hilt. The amber-coloured handle was made of two distinct wooden parts, fused together by a thin vein of silver allay. Two buttons made of the same metal, situated near the blade projection plate, helped him to regulate his lightsaber’s power and length.

“Is your diatium power cell well protected in this handle? Isn’t your choice hazardous? I mean, it’s not going to be damaged if your lightsaber runs hot for a while, is it?” The Padawan inquired with a curious if worried expression.

Obi-Wan laughed, his feet splashing in the waterfall’s plunge pool. “No. I made the hilt with a brylark tree’s branch –the only wood as sturdy as durasteel. A few specimens were growing on Nima near the equator, deep in the forest.”

“I should do researches, too,” Bant thought aloud. Her silka bead swung behind her round eyes when she gave him his weapon back. “Maybe there’s an aquatic plant or a coral I could include in my lightsaber. It would be a great homage to my homeplanet.”

“I saw incredible coral reefs on Nima,” added Obi-Wan. “The hot climate created a location suitable for their development. They were tiny but colourful, orange, green and purple stardust thriving under the water. You would have loved it.”

“I don’t doubt it! Sometimes I don’t understand why you weren’t born with gills, Obi-Wan. You love water and everything that’s in it. I haven’t forgotten your fascination for this shellfish we had found on Chandrila’s beach when we were Initiates. It was a pathetic thing with a damaged shell but you tried to keep it alive, putting it in your seawater-filled flask.”

Obi-Wan gave her a disgruntled look. “Our Crechemaster was unhappy with me.”

His friend burst into laughter, a low pitched noise reminding him of waves. “I had never seen her blue skin turning green before! She wasn’t convinced by your desperate attempt to keep it. ‘But Master,” Bant tried to mimic his voice, "You can’t take him away! I promise we take good care of him. He could be our clan’s mascot!’ She called one of the Temple’s gardener to find a new home for him. I swear he was quite awed by the fact that we managed to keep it alive so long in your flask.”

“I’m sure it was Bruck who denounced us,” mumbled the teenager.

“One day, I promise you Obi-Wan, I’m going to take you to Mon Cala. There are reefs on this planet, so large you could lose your way in it. My species built underwater transparisteel tunnels to travel through the cities; you can see all the Ocean’s fauna through them.”

“It seems peaceful,” answered Padawan with a dreamy smile. “I don’t know if Master Qui-Gon could go there, though.”

Bant blinked slowly, like a sleepy scalefish. “That’s a good question, Obi-Wan. You would have to ask him when you’ll see him again.”

Her comment turned the teenager’s thoughts back on today’s events. “You know, we didn’t found Xanatos thanks to luck, this time. I had a vision –more complex and detailed than the ones I used to have in the Crèche. I met afterwards an elderly Master who gave me the keys to decipher it –Master Dapatian. He’s an old Jedi Seer –and I think he wants to teach me his art.”

“That’s fabulous, Obi-Wan! What is your Master’s opinion on the subject?”

“He’s quite grateful for this possibility. I know Qui-Gon isn’t used to visions; he says he doesn’t have the spirit for it. In consequence, he can’t teach me how to refine my gift.”

“Did you have the opportunity to see him since you came back from Cantonica?” Inquired Bant, climbing out of the plunge pool.

“No, but I would like to do a courtesy visit –if only to thank him again. We would never have stopped Xanatos without him.”

“Do you want me to accompany you? You made me quite curious and I would like to meet him,” confessed the Mon Calamari apprentice.

“I wouldn’t say no to such an illustrious escort, Ma’am,” replied Obi-Wan with cheek.

“Let me put on a dry tunic and we can search for his quarter’s localisation in the Archives. Master Tahl showed me how to use the new Temple’s database why you were running on roofs and avoiding tiles.”

* * *

Poli Dapatian’s quarters were situated in the lower levels of the Temple, near the Jedi’s common rooms and the gardens. This part of the building had been developed to keep elderly, injured or disabled Jedi as autonomous as possible. Tactile paving mapped the way toward the mess, the Hall of a thousand fountains and the Archives and the rare stairs still in place were equipped with repulsorlift chairs. 

Bant and Obi-Wan walked down those white corridors, following their viewscreen’s instructions. 

“We’re in the B2 wing; turn left in the next intersection and we should find him.”

The teenagers arrived at the corner and discovered they weren’t alone in that passageway. A Temple Guard was standing beside a large transparisteel window, face turned toward the city landscape. The Jedi was tall, their body draped in white formal robes on which the Order’s seal shone in gold. Dozens of complex metal keys hung from their leather belt, iron, copper, chromium and brass singing under Coruscant I’s sunrays. Their heavy dark boot seemed anchored in the ground, while their gloved hands held a switched-off lightsaber pike.

Hesitation and surprise froze the two apprentices. A Temple Guard standing near the living quarters wasn’t a common sight. The Jedi must have sensed them as they turned toward the teenagers. Their features were concealed behind a large white hood and a mask, adorned with flowery golden motifs.

“May I be of help, Padawans?” Inquired the Guard with a low voice.

Obi-Wan bowed his head and spoke. “Padawan Eerin and I are here to see Master Dapatian.”

The Temple Guard’s masked face tilted to the right. The apprentice imagined the movement translated the Jedi’s increased attentiveness. Or did it? Maybe the Guard just wanted to see them better, or to scratch their shoulder. It was difficult to guess with this attire.

“Ah, you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi. Master Dapatian has told me about you.”

The teenager felt his face turned red with this declaration. He always felt uncomfortable once he became the center of attention. Why did the former councillor talk about him to a Temple Guard?

“I’m sorry, Padawans, but you won’t be able to see him today. Master Dapatian was very tired and he has retired to rest in his room.”

“Is he sick?” Asked Bant, her concern noticeable in the Force.

“He’s not,” answered the Temple Guard in a softer voice. “Poli Dapatian is just very old and his energies levels may vary from days to days. Sometimes he’s able to spend a week helping people in the Temple, filling his time with visits and lessons. Other times… He’s drained, his strength waning and he stays in his quarters. He’ll be better soon, I promise.”

The Jedi’s considerate words reminded Obi-Wan of the time Master Qui-Gon became ill after their mission on Rodia. The Temple Guard had a certain gentleness in them, a mindful attitude similar to the devotion an apprentice would have toward their weakened teacher. Didn’t Yoda say something about it during their tea ceremony, all those months ago? Didn’t he mention an apprentice of Poli Dapatian who had chosen the Temple Guard’s way?

The apprentice looked at the protector before him and his mere supposition became a certitude. He knew the Knights who chose the Guard’s way had to distance themselves from their lineage, but this Jedi’s affection toward the old man wasn’t superficial.

“Master Dapatian said you’ll probably visit him today.” The Temple Guard saw Bant’s puzzled face and clarified his thoughts. “He had a premonition; he often does that. Anyway, Master Dapatian asked me to give you this.”

The Jedi held out a holobook for Obi-Wan.

“I –I can’t accept this?!”

“Yes, you can,” interrupted the Temple Guard. “He said it was for your training.”

Obi-Wan closed his mouth and took it, gratefulness a hot spring inside his stomach. He could feel the weight of the Jedi’s piercing gaze on him as he bowed his head.

“Could you pass on my thankfulness to Master Dapatian –for the book and the help he gave me last week? This mission wouldn’t have been successful without him.”

“I will, Padawan Kenobi. I will.”

* * *

Bant and he parted ways at dusk. Obi-Wan walked slowly back toward his quarters, a bit concerned about his Master’s state. This afternoon spent in his best friend’s company almost made him forget the trial his teacher faced. How would he be tonight, after the pyre’s last embers disappeared in the wind? After Xanatos’ saga ended?

The teenager pushed open their door and entered the living room. “Master, I’m here!”

To his surprise, Qui-Gon Jinn was slumped on the couch with Feemor. His teacher turned his head toward him. Grief had made his leaves paled but his presence in the Force was steady and light. He seemed unburdened as if a weight had disappeared on his lianas.

“Obi-Wan, I was going to call you! You’re just on time. How was your afternoon with Bant?” The Nyaman asked, waving a tentacle toward him.

“Very good, Master. We spend some quality time in the Hall of a thousand fountains. Master Dapatian also lend me a book!”

“I hope you thanked him, my apprentice. I wouldn’t like for a councillor to have a bad opinion of me,” added the Jedi Master with a welcome amount of humour.

“I did –thought a come-between. He wasn’t feeling good, today. And you, Master?”

“Today was difficult, but I’m going to be alright.” The Nyaman looked at his former Padawan. “You know what I say about hard days.”

“That they deserve a reward?” Feemor hazarded, scratching the fur covering his head.

“Yes, they do,” Master Qui-Gon confirmed. “I have an idea. Let’s do something together.”

“Are you thinking about-?” The knight began.

“Yes! Let’s make an application of nutrients!”

_An application of nutrients?_ Obi-Wan felt a bit lost. “Do you want to eat together?” The teenager tried, while Feemor happily walked toward the fresher.

“Not really,” The Knight answered, returning to the living room with a basin. “You know Qui-Gon absorbs most of his needed nutrients through his roots and his water receptor?” Obi-Wan nodded. “Well, that’s also possible for most sentient species. I think we started it when I was tween myself. After an especially hard day, we’ll spend time nurturing our tired bodies by applying nutritious substances on it! Please, boil some water; we’ll need it for the tea.”

Obi-Wan switched on the kettle, thoughtful. “Isn’t it dangerous? I mean, if there was one thing I learned since I became Master Qui-Gon’s apprentice, it’s that we are vastly different –and our needs are dissimilar, too.”

“Oh, we had to face some failures. Qui-Gon’s products don’t have the same effect on me. We found good combinations by trials and errors. His _fabulous_ black tea dried my fur and honey greased it.”

“Once, Feemor tried a desert plant he had heard good things about,” added their teacher who was rummaging through the cupboards. “His skin couldn’t bear it. He spent the whole week scratching himself. It was hilarious.”

The Knight’s snout wrinkled. “Don’t listen to him. I kept trying –I really wanted to find something! And a woman on Alderaan suggested me to use eggs. It was a revelation.”

“What does it do?” Obi-Wan asked, mystified by the whole thing.

“It keeps my fur strong, healthy and soft. Perfect after a hazardous mission! Here, take those three eggs. We’re going to break them.”

As the Caamasi started to infuse tea in the hot water, Qui-Gon turned toward him. “What do you want to try on him?”

Feemor looked at Obi-Wan’s retreating form attentively. “Maybe not the eggs –he doesn’t have enough fur for that. Perhaps fruits? Or clay?”

“Feemor’s the specialist here,” the Jedi Master explained. “He made most of the experimentations.”

The Knight finally took some green powder and mixed it with water, squeezing a fruit over the small bawl. Beside them, Master Qui-Gon sat on the couch and sighed in appreciation as he plunged his roots in the basin full of tea. His leaves and lianas shivered noisily before they settled. 

“What did you put in it, Feemor?”

“In the basin? It’s his favourite tea –Yoda’s batch. For you, I chose green clay from Mikkia and a citrus fruit’s juice. I heard rich humans took bathes of clay and mud sometimes, so it should be safe for you,” the Caamasi reassured him. “You can sit on a chair and apply it on your skin, Obi-Wan.

“Can I put it on all my skin or are there areas to avoid?” The teenager asked as he began to strip in the middle of the room, taking off his tunic and putting it on the table.

“What are you doing, Obi-Wan?” The Knight asked, half-scandalised when he saw his brother-Padawan untying his belt. “No, keep your pants on! Qui-Gon, what are you teaching to your student?”

The Nyaman waved vaguely his liana in their direction.

“As you want, Feemor,” the teenager shrugged, pulling his pants up again.

“Stars! Apply it on your face and your torso; it should be enough.” The Knight took a handful of clay in his hand and put it on the boy’s face without warning.

“Hey! What are you –it’s cold!”

“Close your eyes,” Feemor advised. He spread it on his cheeks and forehead, rubbing his skin energetically. “There! Now, you can carry on alone.”

The Knight sat beside him and began to cover his fur with his eggs mixture. Then he leaned back and smiled. His contentment could be read in the Force. “I swear, I kriffing earned it.”

“Please, don’t swear Feemor,” Master Qui-Gin mumbled lowly. “Obi-Wan’s still too young to hear that.”

The teenager almost protested but finally swallowed back his remark. The moment was too peaceful to be interrupted by unnecessary bickering. The clay on his skin was fresh and pleasant, the citrus fruit’s aroma delightful for the end of this difficult day. His muscles slowly relaxed and his mind rested. He could feel, perhaps even more easily than usual the ties that linked him to those Jedi, those members of his lineage. They were rooted inside their soul and stretched out toward him, like long lianas.

Everything was perfect.

“Feemor? Your eggs are leaking on the floor.”

* * *

When Obi-Wan left his room in the morning, ready to start his day, he smiled when he realised the living room was still plunged in darkness. He could see Feemor’s silhouette sleeping on their couch, his loud snores filling the room. Obi-Wan took the holobook he had left on the table yesterday and a cushion before he opened silently the balcony’s door. Coruscant I was high enough in the sky to facilitate his reading.

The teenager switch on the screen, waiting a moment before the title appeared. _Understanding visions: a lesson in joy._ He settled comfortably and started to read the first chapter.


	21. The Vanishing Pirates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University will start again next week; this is consequently our last "holiday chapter"! I can't guarantee my update and writing schedule will be the same afterwards X)
> 
> Writing has been more difficult for me during those last weeks. Please, take the time to leave a comment, even short, ofter reading. It's the best way to encourage me to continue and to fight to have time to write.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

Xanatos may have disappeared, his ashes scattered in the wind, but his imprint hadn’t. Not yet. The consequence of his fall, of his choices, still affected the Galaxy. Obi-Wan looked at the black emptiness surrounding them through their ship’s viewport, lost in his thoughts. _How could one man’s life, and death, have so much impact on the world?_ An impact he hadn’t even planned for, this time.

With his death of its governor, Telos had fallen into anarchy. The planet trembled under Du Crion’s trusted followers’ faith, who were ready to draw their weapons to remain in power, opportunists who wanted to make a grab for power and the oppressed penniless lower class demanding changes, unafraid to spill blood in freedom’s name.

To better the situation, mining companies took advantage of the administrative chaos, buying lands and concessions cheaply, prepared to gut the planet in total indifference and to hollow it out, depriving it of its underground riches and wreaking its landscape.

Telos had been a powerful world before this, one of the systems leading the Hydian way, exercising considerable influence on lesser planets and moons. Its turmoil affected _de facto_ all those worlds who depended on its economy and guidance.

One of them was Nevarro.

Obi-Wan and his Master were, therefore, travelling toward the Outer-Rim system for their new assignment.

Their T-6 shuttle flew toward the solitary planet, leaving hyperspace to approach the brown and dark globe.

“Padawan, can you control the rotating wing? We’re going to land soon.”

“Yes, Master.”

The teenager seized the stick and prepared to touch down.

The landing legs deployed themselves on a gritty and dusty soil. The Jedi cut off the engines and walked down the boarding ramp. Obi-Wan’s gaze travelled from the rusty hull of their ship to the clear blue sky. The sun was small and high on the horizon, too much to warm the dry and cold atmosphere.

“The governor must be waiting for us in Nevarro city. I thought it more prudent to land in the town’s outskirt –I heard the situation in the center was worrisome. I wouldn’t like to lose our way back home before the mission even began,” Master Qui-Gon explained.

Obi-Wan took out the electrobinoculars from his utility belt and pointed them at the landscape. Through the lens, he could see red or manganese-coloured hills and low black mountains stretching out of sight.

“I think I found it; it’s twelve klicks to the north.”

“Let’s start to hike then, Padawan!”

Obi-Wan and his teacher began their journey toward Nevarro city. Lapilli crunched under their boots, the rocky ground unpleasant to walk on. They were surrounded by ancient and worn dormant volcanoes, their craters filled by tephra and summits levelled down by the years.

Shivering, the apprentice wrapped himself tighter in his outer-robe, pulling his hood up. The hilly landscape didn’t offer adequate protection against the cold breeze who seeped into his clothes.

It was late afternoon when the two Jedi arrived at their destination. Nevarro city was very different from the capital cities Obi-Wan had visited before. The settlement was small, a maze of grey duracrete two-story buildings. Monolithic blocks of soft pink volcanic tuff were used to create monumental gates at the fringe of the town. Dyed woollen fabrics were stretched above the porches and the stores, adding some colour to the rather stern outpost.

A child wearing a conic red hat was running in the streets towards them, laughing as he tried to escape his minder. He ducked under a stall, curling on himself as a poor pale girl searched for him.

“Hey,” Obi-Wan whispered beside the hanging clothes. “Can you help us to find the Governor’s house?”

The drapes answered him. “It’s in the next block. The door is decorated with cool green stones.”

They found the governor’s house easily with this description. Its entrance was the only one to be decorated this way, small green olivine integrated into the mortal surrounding the threshold like a lopsided mosaic of old. 

The two Jedi entered the building, removing their cloaks and baring their faces. The hall was plain, walls made of unpolished square stones of volcanic tuff. A tall woman with short hair a shade too yellow to be completely human was standing behind a desk.

“Can I help you?” She inquired with a polite smile.

Master Qui-Gon bowed the top of his body. “I’m Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and this is my apprentice, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. We’ve been sent by the Republic.”

The woman’s eyes shone in recognition. “The Republic’s envoys! Governor Sadine has been waiting for you. I’ll call her.”

They didn’t stay long in the house’s entrance as the secretary put her comm down and led them to a small but comfortable sitting room. The two Jedi remained standing while she closed the door behind them.

“Are you feeling alright, Master? The atmosphere is a bit dry for you, isn’t it?”

“Stop fretting, Padawan,” advised the Nyaman. “I’ll be alright.”

Obi-Wan considered what he knew about his Master’s needs, the colour of his large leaves and the planet’s climate. When Qui-Gon turned his back to him, the teenager gripped the small bottle hanging from his utility belt and sprayed mineral water on him. _Better be safe than sorry._

The Jedi Master was kind enough not to make any remark.

A moment later, the door buzzed as another person came into the room. “I’m sorry if I made you wait; we’re grateful for the Republic’s support. I’m Governor Sadine, please to meet you.”

The woman who shook Obi-Wan’s hand and tilted her head toward Master Qui-Gon had short grey hair and dark skin. Her woollen clothes were practical –something that reminded the teenager of Azerb II, but their cut was original and befitting her rank. She had a noble bearing that struck him deeply.

“We’re here to serve,” his Master answered solemnly.

“Please, sit down,” the Governor suggested, pointing out the chairs. “You must have questions about the situation.”

Qui-Gon nodded as they settled down. “Maybe you could give us more information about Nevarro; it could help us understanding the turmoil affecting you nowadays.”

“Nevarro’s story started approximatively two thousand years ago. Telos IV, one of the nearby sectors’ leaders, colonized a few sister-planets. Those expansionist probes were anarchic and suffered from a lack of clear policy. The planet’s governor, Harion du Crion, wanted to control new interesting resources, in hope of competing with the rising dukedom of Seranno. He thought Nevarro could be promising –as a volcanic planet, it could hide in its folds diamonds, precious gems and rare ores. The fact was –it wasn’t the case. Here, we have billions of tons of volcanic tuffs, some obsidian and semi-precious stones such as olivine, orpiment and realgar. Nothing overly valuable. The mother-planet stopped its costly expeditions and settled for small trades routes.

“Some of the colons who had travelled on Nevarro chose to return on Telos, but most of them remained here. The life’s hard on the planet –don’t misunderstand me. We’re poorer than the Telosians, but we’re free! Freer than them. Our regime is democratic –I was elected to the office. We don’t suffer from blatant lack of liberty of expression, or from abusive law enforcement officers. Our laws were custom-made for our small-scaled settlements. The class difference is smaller here, too. On Telos, the elite’s rich but the lower class is living in slums.

“Nowadays, we live thanks to our cattle who provide us with food and wool. Minerals such as orpiment or realgar are used to dye textiles which can be sold with sculpted or sharpened obsidian on Telos. Farming is also easy on the rich volcanic soil.

“Telos’ fall a few weeks ago affected us –that’s a fact. But we could have survived it if we didn’t suffer from internal turmoil as well.”

“What happened?” Obi-Wan inquired, caught by her passionate tale. His reaction must have amused his Master as he could feel his merriment and indulgence in the Force.

“Our shops and stalls started to be attacked. Twice a week -at least! , well-armed and dangerous humans raid our stores, stealing much-needed money and resources.”

Obi-Wan frowned. This seemed to be a simple case of delinquency and thievery. _Why didn’t they try to solve this problem alone?_ “May I ask a question, Governor?” The woman nodded in agreement. “I may appear a bit straightforward, but why didn’t you demand to your law enforcement officers to investigate this case? Why did you call the Republic for help?”

Governor Sadine sighed. “If we could solve it alone, we would have done it. But Nevarro city is a rather small settlement –you’ve seen it. The size of our law enforcement forces is proportional to the number of inhabitants. Our officers are equipped with stunners, handcuffs and small blasters, whereas those henchmen loot our stores with customised blaster rifles and slugthrowers; they’re just not qualified to fight this kind of menace. And if we don’t put a stop to those wrongdoings soon, we’ll be lost.”

Living on an ecumenopolis like Coruscant may have affected his way of thinking; Obi-Wan hadn’t thought of the limitations a smaller town could encounter. _Here is another lesson to learn today._

Master Qui-Gon bend forwards, serious and attentive. “What can you tell us about those aggressions?”

“The men come in groups of five to ten individuals. They’re heavily armed, target our shops and loot them –taking money and goods. Then they disappear before we can catch them.” Governor Sadine smiled tiredly. “I could give you a few other facts but the best idea would be to talk to the victims. They may have more interesting details to tell. Here is a list of the shops who were attacked since Telos’ fall.” The Nyaman stretched one of his lianas to seize the flimsiplast she gave them.

“We’ll investigate on this case for you then, Governor.” Qui-Gon assented. “Thank you for your time and precious comments.”

“It’s you who should be thanked,” the women countered. “I’ve sent someone to prepare you a room in the guesthouse beside the cantina. The proprietress is charming and will be able to help you if you need more information about the city –she knows it like the back of her hands.”

As they saluted each other, ready to part ways, the Governor spoke again. Her low voice rang into the small room. “We don’t have a lot on Nevarro –but we need it to live. What is happening is a disaster for our small-scaled system. I pray you will find a solution to our plight.”

Obi-Wan looked at her in the eyes –hers were dark and secret, forged like obsidian in hardship and joy mixed.  
He realised at this moment that his Master and he were seen as bringers of hope, here. The Jedi’s uniform and faith were perceived as a safety beacon, the last torch before the night engulfed them all.

This understanding was sudden and humbling.

Obi-Wan could only hope not to feel far short. 

* * *

The first store they went to was the Twi’lek healing baths. The owners, two females coming from Ryloth, greeted them warmly inside of their boutique and did their best to answer their questions.  
Obi-Wan admired the vaulted half-buried room carved into the pale reddish volcanic tuff. The atmosphere was comfortable and intimate at the same time.

“We manage a small thermal facility,” a red-skinned and soft-eyes Twi’lek explained. Her partner, blue and strong, was standing tall behind her, a hard glint in her eyes. Her hand supported her seated spouse’s shoulder. “The planet’s hot core warms those rooms. We use two natural hot springs to fill the baths and pools. The water’s full of minerals drained from the volcanoes’ rich rocks. For those who desire it, we can give them special skincare in the adjacent area using hot stones, local semi-precious gems or blue milk. We have regular customers, inhabitants of Nevarro as well as travellers and traders coming from the nearby sectors: Telos, Seranno or Mirial.”

“We were lucky,” the other Twi’lek, named Cri’Li, added. “Contrary to the other targeted stores, they couldn’t steal our merchandise too, so we can remain open. I’d have liked seeing them try to nick our therapeutic stones,” she grinned darkly.

“They stole all of our money, hundreds of Republic credits. We can live during more than six months with this sum, on Neravvo. And we’re afraid they’ll come back,” Ra’Li admitted, tugging lightly on her red lekku. “They threatened us, physically. I feared they would molest us. Thanks to the Mother, Cri managed to surprise them and locked us in a storeroom. They were free to loot our belongings but we lived to see another day.”

Those low words chilled Obi-Wan to the core.

“I’m sorry you had to live this,” Master Qui-Gon said softly, his compassion shining bright in the Force. “Can you tell us more about your aggressor? Their distinguishing features, their _modus operandi_ , anything they said?”

The two owners looked at each other. “They were at least six –maybe more if some were waiting outside the baths. Those henchmen were all men –human males with slit eyes and dark hair. They didn’t wear masks. Otherwise, they had black clothes and brandished strange, dangerous-looking weapons: white bone grip pistols, long rifles with vibro-blades tied to the barrel.”

“I’ve not recognized any models nor brands –they must be heavily modified blasters,” Cri added.

“Could they be inhabitants from Nevarro?” The teenager inquired. “A faction wanting to seize power, local hooligans taking advantage of the power instability to amass money?”

“I can guarantee you they don’t hail from the capital city, at least,” Ra’Li confirmed. “With their clothes and their swarm of scars… I thought they could be spacers! It would explain their language…”

“What do you mean by language?” Obi-Wan asked, his body bending forwards.

“They could understand basic and speak it,” the Twi’lek explained solemnly. “But it wasn’t the language they used when they spoke to each other.”

* * *

“If they are indeed spacers, they could be using bocce,” his Padawan suggested as he turned a straw in his glass.

“Maybe,” the Nyaman conceded. “But they could also speak a totally different dialect. The healing bath’s owners weren’t able to identify it. I’m personally more intrigued by this vanishing trait of them.”

The two Jedi had passed the rest of the day interviewing a dozen victims relaying the same facts. The descriptions of the aggressors matched. Their _modus operandi_ seemed clear, too. They launched their attack at the end of the day, an hour or two before the sun went down. They were heavily armed, threatened the owners and weren’t afraid to use violence; a proprietor who refused to give his cash box was bled dry by a vibro-blade. Once the shop was looted, the henchmen vanished –as if they had never been here. Disappearing without a trace when they put a foot in the streets.

_How could they do that?_

“Maybe they’re using a new cloaking device?” His fire boy suggested. “Feemor talked to me about the newest stealth innovations. The biggest companies are currently in a technological race. Apparently, Sorosuub created a prototype of starfighters able to disappear if its weapons are deactivated. The cannons are, indeed, emitting a signal traceable by other ships. Kuat systems engineering also commercialized a helmet and a suit with remarkable stealth aptitudes.”

His apprentice’s enthusiasm made Qui-Gon’s laugh. “You would like it, wouldn’t you?”

“It would be very interesting if such devices were used here,” his autumn-head boy conceded. “But honestly I just think they must have a hiding place nearby.”

“I also lean toward this hypothesis. Cloaking devices are far too costly for this kind of hooligans –especially if they must customise their weapons themselves! But I agree with you; it would have been a most entertaining solution.”

His ember boy looked at the calm streets thought the window. “I hadn’t realised it when we arrived this morning but there’s a smell of fear in the air. The shops are closing early, the inhabitants are already retiring in their house. The town will be deserted in half an hour.”

The Nyaman was ready to answer when a loud voice rose behind them. “Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon Jinn, that’s it? It’s the first time I meet Jedi; I don’t want to misunderstand your name –it would be far too much awkward for me!” Their waitress, a woman in her fortieth wearing a long ponytail smiled to them, followed by a large hoverplate. She was clothed in a red-dyed and white dress. “Tubes for the young man and mineral water for you, as asked.”

“Thank you very much, Ma’am,” his apprentice said, bowing his head.

The women blushed. _What a charmer!_ “It’s just Ghara, my dear.”

The teenager didn’t wait to grab his fork and start eating. Obi-Wan was clearly famished after such a long and hard day. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon retrieved the large basin full of water and plunged eight lianas in it at the same time. He sighed in pleasure; the Nyaman hadn’t wanted to alarm his Padawan but the climate was indeed a bit hard for his leaves.

“Do you need anything else?” the waitress inquired.

“No, it’s perfect. Your springs are rich here. They’re doing a marvel on my deprived water sensors.”

“What led you here, on this mission? I mean, they are thousands Jedi roaming the Galaxy but you –a vegetal life-form, chose to risk yourself on Nevarro.”

“We’re normally sent in assignment depending on our qualifications and specialities. As you may have understood it, I’m more useful on jungle or humid worlds. But I really wanted to come here and the dormant craters around Nevarro city weren’t considered dangerous for me. I can’t say I’m regretting this decision; you really have a beautiful planet, Ghara.”

“Believe me, I know it! I wasn’t born here; I immigrated when I was twenty. Since then, I never stopped loving Nevarro. This planet is hard, colourful and reveals its beauty to anyone who wishes to seek it. The ground’s stable around the capital city and the nearby volcanoes are all dormant, but the other side of the planet is still so wild. There are eruptions every week, dust blowing in the air, lava covering the melting ground, cooling off and cracking open to show the earth’s flayed flesh. It’s quite magical.” The middle-aged woman sighed. “Ah, I shouldn’t have said that. It makes me think again of those pirates…”

“How can it remind you of the pirates?” Obi-Wan asked, puzzled.

“There are myths on this land, stories of spirits, flames and magic. Even I, who came on Nevarro later than most, know them by heart. I learned about Xenos, the Telosian princess who jumped into a blazing volcano when her father promised her to a man full of riches she did not love. I discovered that geysers are manifestations of Devaa, mischievous but harmless spirits living underneath the earth. They love to tease the settlers but will bring you luck if you leave small glass or obsidian goods near the geysers. This planet is a land of mysteries; and with those vanishing pirates, witchcraft may be afoot.”

His apprentice turned wide eyes toward him. A tinge of amusement tickled Qui-Gon’s bark. His rational boy apparently felt disarmed face to the poetic local believes.

“In my opinion, witchery isn’t involved in those aggressions. I think the thieves may have a good knowledge of the capital city and use it for nefarious purposes. They must have a hiding place somewhere. Maybe I should send a message to the governor’s secretary; she could show us Nevarro City’s plans. Hints and clues might be revealed by a careful study of the maps.”

“I wish you good luck in your research,” Ghara replied. “But don’t hope too much; I heard most of the town’s archives were burned in an accidental fire ten years ago. A newcomer dug the floor too deeply in the wrong place and magma went up. I fear the most complete maps may have turned to ashes.”

The Nyaman sighed, his tentacles shaking with disappointment. “I shall still try my luck, then.”

The waitress smiled and finally added: “Anyway, I’m glad you came here to protect us. I saw the pirates once; I’m not a coward but I’ll admit this encounter left me shaking in fear.”

The two Jedi exchanged a surprised look. “You saw them?”

“Yes, a week ago. They kept me at gunpoint in the streets with one of those large rifles. They shout at me, menacing me as they fled. I thought I would die there.”

“And they spoke to you in basic?” Qui-Gon continued, leaning forwards.

“A little bit. They demanded me to stop moving, saying I was already too late. Afterwards, they mostly muttered to each other. One of them growled to move _pushee wumpa_ and the leader stated they had to _nudd chaa.”_

His ember boy stared at him like a bantha caught in headlights. “It’s huttese, isn’t it Master?”

_Well_ , Qui-Gon thought. _If those thieves are linked to the Hutt Cartel, the problem may be even more dangerous than we thought._

Obi-Wan pulled a face. “Master, I have a bad feeling about this…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked a lot on Nevarro's background for this mission :')  
> You may have recognized it, but the planet exists in the extended universe; it's one of the places appearing in The Mandalorian!
> 
> I also wondered about the consequences of the fall of Telos IV and its government -as a big system, there must have been lots of repercussions! This is me abording this subject X)


	22. Dyed-in-the-wool Criminals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! We're continuing our mission on Nevarro.  
> Enjoy! <3

Each Jedi has a specific and unique link to the Force. Master Windu could sense the universe’s framework through shatterpoints; Padawan Quinlan Vos could feel Its imprint when his digits brushed hot skin or lifeless objects. As his species might suggest it, Qui-Gon Jinn was rooted in the Living Force, his soul beating to nature’s rhythm.

His mind was attuned to Life, in all its forms.

Therefore, the Nyaman wasn’t particularly sensitive to visions. His apprentice’s prescience wasn’t something he had personally experimented nor a mystery he had access to.

That did not mean he would let his Padawan explore his gift alone.

His boy was sitting cross-legged on the guesthouse’s bed, eyes closed, face calm but concentrated. His growing legs were jutting around his waist like bird’s wings, his Padawan braid brushing his collarbone. Obi-Wan had meditated last night before sleeping, opening his mind to the Force to increase his chances to have a vision. A little help from a higher power wouldn’t be too much to predict where the pirates would strike next.

No, Qui-Gon had quickly understood he couldn’t teach anything to Obi-Wan on this subject, but it didn’t mean he could not help him.

“What did you see, Obi-Wan?” the Jedi Master inquired, ready to guide him through his quest to analyse his vision.

“I was in a large room but I didn’t have a lot of space to move. There were large vats on the floor, waist-high, in gleaming metal. I couldn’t see what was in them.”

“Is there any details you can remember? Something which struck you?”

“The odour,” Obi-Wan replied without missing a beat. “It was thick in the air, nauseating. I thought I was going to gag –even though my vision!”

The Jedi Master’s large body winced in sympathy. “It must not have been pleasant, my young apprentice. I’m sorry for you.”

The boy gave him an unimpressed look. Qui-Gon wondered if it was caused by his affectionate nickname or if he remembered his Master didn’t have any sense of smell.

“There was something else,” the teenager added with hesitation. “The room was dark and it was hard to see. However, I think things were hanging from the ceiling. I’m almost certain they were pieces of cloth!”

“That’s a possibility,” the Nyaman nodded.

“I believe we should check the cloth makers and dyers,” his apprentice suggested with a determined look. “Nevarro’s specialised in woollen garments. They’re our most likely bet.”

Pride in his apprentice’s accomplishments warmed Qui-Gon’s sap. Two years ago, he would not have taken such an active part in the investigation. The young human was growing and blooming, walking more surely than ever on the knighthood’s path.

“Lead the way, Padawan,” he finally said, waving his lianas toward their chamber’s door.

_This time, it is I who shall follow you_. 

* * *

The sun was barely up on the horizon when Obi-Wan and his teacher begun their research. The teenager tried to ignore the cold wind wrapping itself around him as he stepped outside of the guesthouse. Today would be a race against the clock; the two Jedi had to find the pirates’ next target before the end of the day to hope to stop those renegades.

Governor Sadine’s assistant welcomed the two Jedi in the morning, showing them the documents they asked for on her datapad. Her smile had been tinged with regret when she had held out the recent maps of the capital city to them.

“I’m sorry but I can’t give you any historical map. Our archives were badly damaged a few years ago –I’m afraid the first settlers’ architecture didn’t always resist time. That’s why we changed our premises. This one is fire-and-magma proof. It’s even built to live through earthquakes.”

The map didn’t reveal any potential hiding place nor secret passages. Obi-Wan wasn’t surprised by this fact, as it seemed to be a street-to-street survey more than an exhaustive topographical account. _Well,_ the Padawan sighed. _Time to switch to plan B._

They would have to surprise those vanishing pirates and dug them up themselves.

A long day began afterwards as Obi-Wan and his Master walked through the town’s allays under the cold faraway sun, searching for the cloth maker shops. They quickly established a routine, the teenager entering first into the store, checking the premise to see if he could recognize anything which could help him to find the next target.

Luck seemed to escape them as the apprentice often bit his lips and shook his head, signalling to this teacher that he didn’t recognize the place. Obi-Wan still gripped his hope in both hands, refusing to let it go before the sun begun to go down.

When he entered at midday into a dyer shop whose duracrete front door was decorated by a long red-and-yellow striped cloth, he tried to ignore his growling stomach and looked attentively at the room’s furniture.

Large and colourful sheets were hanging on the walls, hiding the grey concrete. On small and mobile shelves laid out on the store’s floor, blue shirts, red dresses, dotted tablecloths and dyes towels were piled together. Obi-Wan’s fingers brushed his digit against them; the rough fabric surprised him. Those items were made of simple and sturdy material but their bright shades must increase their value.

“How can I help you?” A soft voice inquired behind them.   
The Padawan turned around and smiled at the old Rodian seated on a wooden rocking chair. The hard scales covering his body were dark green like pines, his large compound eyes shining like aquamarines behind a pair of round glasses.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a second; should they tell him the reason of their presence or investigate more discretely? A nod from his Master encouraged him to choose by himself.

“We are the Jedi your Governor send for to arrest Nevarro city’s thieves. We are currently investigating the case –is it possible to check your back shop? This could help us to secure your business.”

The Rodian tilted his head to the side before he agreed. “The government is finally acting. It’s good to see things are changing here. Come with me, I’ll show you the other rooms.”

The shopkeeper put down his account book on his desk and led the two Jedi toward a plain wooden door. “My workshop is just behind the store and my home is upstairs.” He entered the room and switched on the light. “This is where I create my goods.”

Master Qui-Gon moved forwards, brushing past his apprentice, ready to explore the back shop. Obi-Wan, for his part, tried very hard not to breathe. An acrid, nauseous smell had reached his nostrils, transforming his attentive expression into a disgusted one. The shopkeeper turned around and smiled sheepishly when he saw his pinched lips and tearing eyes. “I’m sorry young man; I forgot to warn you. I use powerful additives and I know humans have a sharper sense of smell than mine.”

The Rodian’s workshop was vast; however, Qui-Gon’s large silhouette was cramped inside it. The paved ground was indeed eaten by four large metallic vats. The vaulted ceiling’s lights were reflected on the tanks’ dark liquid. Nothing was restraining the apprentice’s field of vision. No fabric nor clothes were hanging above the mixture. The cables stretched from wall to wall still caught his attention.

Obi-Wan searched his teacher’s eyes and nodded for the first time, confirming his thoughts.

_There you are._

The Nyaman’s understanding shone into the Force as he continued to talk to their host. “Is this where you create your dyeing baths?”

“Yes. I collect the wool harvested on the thin goats in the south of the town. This is the best place for the cattle’s pasture –even if beastly’s birds of prey sometimes catch them. The other side of the planet’s too inhospitable and the proximity with the capital city is an advantage for the breeders. Anyway, I prepare my pigments here, using the volcanoes’ gifts: orpiment, realgar but also local flora like hespers –small blue flowers growing in the middle of the tephra’s fields. I dilute them into the vats and take samples until I’m ready to dye the materials.”

Obi-Wan listened to those explanations with half an ear as he began to search the workshop. He inspected the grey walls and noted with puzzlement their integrity. He had hoped to find a hiding place or a forgotten passage just like last time, in the AgriCorps’s greenhouse. But the compact duracrete was flawless.

Had he misinterpreted something?

The apprentice breathed deeply to concentrate and turned his focus on the paved ground. The slabs were uneven, rough and perfectly anchored in the ground, bypassing a medium-size pipe and a square metallic manhole cover.

_I suppose there’s no passage here either._ Obi-Wan could have sighed in disappointment.

“I assume you use this manhole to empty your vats?” He finally chose to ask.

“The square one? Oh, no,” the Rodian denied. “I use this pipe and a pump. The manhole was there when I bought the building but it wasn't practical enough for me. The pipe is a better alternative. One of the former inhabitants was a butcher. I presume he may have used it to drain the wastewater, once upon a time.”

“And you didn’t check it? To see if it was usable still?” Hope began to fill the teenager as his fingers seemed to touch the edge of something bigger.

“No, I didn’t. This system is positively ancient; we have better ways to treat our wastes now than to reject them into our environment mere klicks away! Laws were voted thirty years ago to sanction the offenders.”

Master Qui-Gon let the miffed shopkeeper behind him and approached the cover. He sized it with his nibble lianas, moving it sideway without too much trouble.

“Do you want to go in first, Padawan? I’m afraid my size may give me a disadvantage.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “Is this why you chose me as you apprentice, Master? Thanks to my size?”

The Nyaman’s amusement was a shooting star in the Force. “Alas, I seem to be unmasked.”

The teenager climbed down lowly, darkness surrounding him step after step. When his foot touched the ground, he let go of the ladder and moved carefully to the left.

“What do you see, Padawan? Is that it?”

Obi-Wan’s hands reached for his belt and he gripped his lightsaber, powering it up. The blue blade chased the haunting shadows away, revealing his environment to the teenager’s eyes. The coloured glow illuminating the carved walls created a surreal impression.

“It’s really an old sewer, Master. However, it hadn’t been used for quite a long time. The place is dry; there’s no water here.” The Padawan moved around, brightening his surroundings. “The tunnels are large and the ceiling’s high. Adult humans could walk inside them comfortably.” He paused. “I’m less sure about you.” Chuckling, Obi-Wan continued. “I can see a lot of junctions. The network must cover at least a good part of the town.”

The teenager went back underneath the ladder, looking up toward his Master’s silhouette.

“I think we can confirm to our host that the pirates aren’t using any kind of spells. Unless ‘vanishing’ through a sewer is a popular magic trick in the Outer Rim…”

* * *

When the night began to fall and Nevarro’s streets were suddenly deserted, the inhabitants hiding behind their closed door and covered windows, the hunt began.

.

_“Did you localised our target?”_

_“Yes. There’s a discreet exit twenty feet away from there.”_

_“And did you bought the ammo?”_

_“Of course I have! Who do you think I am?!”_ Rough laughers _. “I have two more blaster gas cartridges.”_

Klick. Klick.

_“Let’s go, then. No reason to waste our time.”_


	23. Until Next Flood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm happy to share a new chapter with you again.  
> Life has been strange lately and I have to learn to live with anxiety gripping my stomach.  
> Maybe I'll write something about that one day.
> 
> I hope you're happy and save wherever you are!  
> Enjoy ;)

Qui-Gon Jinn curved his lianas to hide more efficiently in the stair’s shadow. He could see the round window looking out on the streets from his remote shelter. Nevarro’s three irregular moons were rising above the low buildings, their egg shape and cratered surface visible from the planet’s ground.

Downstairs, the Rodian shopkeeper was closing his store, carefully hiding his most treasured goods. He knew what would happen tonight; the Jedi Master and his apprentice had tried to prepare him as best as they could.

Everyone was in position –the only things lacking were the other protagonists.

This tense wait proved to be rather short.

Five minutes later, the front door exploded inward in a deafening noise, bits of concrete thrown on the stairs. The entrance’s decorative cloths burned merrily under the pirated heavy boots.

Qui-Gon could hear the Rodian’s wobbling steps as he took refuge behind the counter, at the back of the room.

“Hands up! Quickly! I want to see your webbed fingers, Greeny!”

The shopkeeper’s whimpers reached the Jedi Master as he soundlessly bent forwards to spy the streets through the window.  
_Good,_ he thought mercilessly. _They did not leave any goons outside. Growing full of themselves, aren’t they?_

Assessing that the right moment was coming, the Nyaman extended his lianas in a pleased sigh – _really, he had passed the age to play hide and seek in narrow spaces -_ and glided swiftly downstairs. The Jedi Master ignited his lightsaber, the green blade illuminating the pirates’ surprised faces.

“Am I disturbing you?”

A tall man with a spiky haircut drew a large blaster and fired four times in his direction. Without missing a beat, Qui-Gon dodged the first two and deflected the others toward the mercenaries. The pirate fell down in a loud cry, his legs dyeing the floor under him in red.

Those men were no fools; on the Hutt’s payroll, they had taken advantage of the town’s lack of resources to enrich themselves. The wind had turned now and their effortless victory seemed compromised. Qui-Gon could see it in their eyes, the fight between their pride and their self-preservation’s instinct. What would they choose?

The mercenaries exchanged meaningful looks, one of them retreating toward the back room. The Jedi Master elected to break the silence growing between them.

“Is this the moment when you decide to flee in the town’s old sewer?”

With those words, the stalemate broke.

A square pirate holding a heavy-looking scattergun camped himself on the floor and begun to rain down old-fashioned bullets on him. Annoyance tickled the Jedi Master as he dodged to the left; those were not deflectable contrary to plasma laser. Qui-Gon breathed deeply to chase his volatile mood like a fly. There was no reason to be frustrated; everything was going as planned.

“ _Boska!_ ” The apparent leader shouted to his companions. _Let’s go!_

The pirates took advantage of the gunner’s distraction to retreat in the workshop.

If Qui-Gon could have biologically done it, he would have smiled and shown his teeth like a Sarlacc. _They were in for quite a surprise._

For the moment, he concentrated on the mercenary facing him. The man had a grim expression on his lips as he continued to fire, the scattergun’s noise almost deafening him. Qui-Gon waved to the left and the right, avoiding as many bullets as he could and intercepting the others. He used his lianas to change his body’s build, thinning himself or letting the slugs fly between them without harming him. It was the advantage of having a body almost totally hidden behind those appendages; nobody knew exactly what was beneath them.

He finally stretched his mind forwards, seizing the counter with the Force and throwing it at the man’s head. The pirate went down with a shout, having no doubt missed to envisage this possibility.

Qui-Gon strode over his unconscious body to reach the back room. The pirates were still standing there, unable to flee through the sewer as Obi-Wan stood above it, his blue kyber crystal lightening his ever-growing and changing face.  
Camped firmly on his two feet, his apprentice looked fiery.

“Your playtime has ended. Surrender and the Republic’s justice might be merciful.”

Those words did not disturb the pirates at all. One of them reloaded his blaster in a loud _klick._ Obi-Wan shrugged as if to say: _I did my job; I warned you._

Then, Pandemonium happened.

Obi-Wan crouched low and took a defensive stance as blaster barrels were pointed toward him. Slugs and plasma were fire at the same time in his direction. The constricting space didn’t permit Qui-Gon to jump above the mercenaries and to join his apprentice. He longed to fight with him back to back, protecting each other. However, he would have to fight his way through to reach him.

The Jedi Master strove to neutralize the fighters without killing them, his blade cutting blasters and wrists. His lightsaber slashed at guns’ barrels, his lianas intercepting small blades and vibro-spikes tied to the modified weapons. There was no time to think, no time to plan. Qui-Gon’s whole body seemed lost in the action’s blur.

A few feet to his right, Obi-Wan was a blazing flame. He evaded, feigned, deflected what he could toward his assailants, his feet never touching the ground for long just like the men who walked on embers during the new year’s festivities on Chandrila. He was fierce and skilled –more than you could ask a teenager to be.

But that was it: his Padawan was surrounded by men twice his age, armed to the teeth. And he was only fifteen –a talented fifteen-years-old who scored an eighty percent success rate during his last lightsaber exam.

He missed the man hidden in a corner. This man, who fire at his back.

Qui-Gon’s sap froze in horror. His mind went blank like a radio filled with static. His path was still blocked by a mercenary. The Nyaman used the Force to slam the pirate violently into a vat as he _leapt_ forward. His body collided with his Padawan’s, the momentum pushing the boy on his knees.

The Jedi Master turned around and swung his blade down –it wasn’t anger that guided his creepers but a strange kind of uncompromising action-has-consequence precept. He followed his own Master’s instruction, cutting the man’s flesh under his elbows. The lost appendages still did a dull sound as they fell on the paved floor.

Qui-Gon’s eyes quickly turned back toward his apprentice. As he examined him from every angle, searching for an injury or even a twisted ankle, he was reminded of an old fear, as ancient as the universe. One that was hidden deep inside him, its claws hanging on his heart with all its mind. One that, as a Jedi Master, he hadn’t conquered.

_He was so old, only surpassed by Master Yoda and Master Yaddle. He was afraid. His own Master had lived through the death of his teacher, of his crechemates, of his fellow Knights and his many apprentices._

_Was it his destiny, too? Would he stand one day on the Temple’s terrace, lightsaber hung onto his timeless belt ready for another mission, while his Padawans’ ashes flew in the wind?_

Most of the time, he carefully avoided thinking about this. But now it was too late; the coffin had been dragged toward the surface by an emotion’s flood.

After a few minutes of careful investigation, Qui-Gon finally relaxed, recognizing that the boy was well.

_This time hasn’t come, yet._

He sighed and curved a liana against his apprentice’s shoulder. “Good job, Obi-Wan. Next time, don’t forget to use the Force to locate all your adversaries. It’s necessary when you’re in the middle of a melee.”

His fire boy didn’t seem reassured at all. His face was pale as he stared at him –he appeared to be ready to fuss over him. “Master! I’m sorry my inattention costed you… Do you have anything which could be used as a bandage? I can tear a piece from my tunic,” he offered.

Qui-Gon moved his eyes downwards and saw the cause of his Padawan’s angst.

One of his lianas was lying on the floor.

The Jedi Master stared at it, stunned. He had not felt it fall. His previously numbed sensations slowly came forth. A burning pain invaded his torso, spreading in all his appendages.

He had lost a limb.

Obi-Wan didn’t wait for the realisation to strike him; he gently touched him, binding the cauterized stump in a well-known beige ripped fabric. His digits were surprisingly careful and confident.

Qui-Gon looked at the room packed with moaning or unconscious criminals, ground painted with specks of life-giving blood.

A limb was a small price to pay for his apprentice’s life.

_He took the cursed coffin and buried it in his rich inside-earth. Deeper, this time._

_Until next flood unearths it again.  
_

* * *

The man who faced him on the other side of the interrogation’s table had long dark hair and a nasty bruised on his face.

Obi-Wan looked at him as calmly as he could, glancing at his wrists bounded on the table. The leader of the pirates was a fiery but contained menace. The apprentice hadn’t yet had the chance to interrogate a suspect and he speculated this one will not be a piece of cake. He would strive to be as imposing as he could to make him talk –and if he remained unmoved by the teenager’s threats, his Master leaning on the door could still take the inquiry over.

“Are you affiliated with the Hutt’s cartel?” Obi-Wan didn’t wait for an answer, continuing to talk without missing a beat. “Nevarro’s an ally of the Republic; their greed isn’t welcomed here.” It wasn’t often that the Jedi Order could move against the Hutts and the Padawan didn’t want to waste this opportunity to fight against their disgusting idea of a business.

The man’s reaction, however, wasn’t one he had envisaged.

“Us, affiliated with the Hutts?” He choked on his words, anger deforming his already bruised face. His accent became more noticeable as he shouted and spat on the Jedi. “How dare you? We’re not slaves anymore! We conquered them, drove them away! _Yoka to Bantha poodoo! E chu ta!_ ” He finally grinned –a dark grin full of promises, showing all his yellow pointed teeth and added slowly, “ _Tooska chai mani.”_

Obi-Wan had scored high enough in his Huttese classes to understand he had been badly insulted, that his sexuality had been brought up in the discussion and that unpleasant suggestions had been made about his parentage.

The Padawan glanced at his teacher –Master Jinn looked far too fond for his own good. This questioning was already getting out of hands. He sighed – _time to improvise._

“What organisation are you representing –if it isn’t the Hutt’s cartel? Who are you?”

The pirate snickered ungracefully. “Isn’t it your job, to figure this out? Why should I help you, Republic slave?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, unamused. “Because if you don’t tell me everything yourself, I’ll contact someone else to have more information. You made it clear that you have a past with the Hutts. While I profoundly dislike dealing with them, I’ll get in touch with the Cartel if I have to. Grakkus the Hutt and Ziro Tiure reside on Coruscant; they’ll be easy to join. And maybe they’ll give me the information I’m searching for.”

This time, the pirate didn’t laugh. He stared at him, face blank, gaze piercing as if he evaluated the truth of his words. He murmured: “You speak to me with your ugly tongue, using this soft language made for soft people like you to utter threat toward me and my followers. Do you understand what you’re implying?” He finally tried his luck: “You’re a Republic soldier; you have no interest in dealing with the Hutts. They often disregard your values, your ethic. They deal with slavery, with drugs! Where is your honour, soldier? Why would you help them to find us?”

“I’m a Republic peacekeeper and you’re menacing this peace when you ransack Nevarro –one of our well-known ally,” the Padawan replied. “Why should I help you?”

The pirate straightened his back, touching absentmindedly his bounded wrists. A rictus deformed his mouth. “I suppose you won this time, _Publiko kung_.”

Obi-Wan didn’t particularly appreciate been called a soldier, nor a _Republic scum_ , but a well-done job surpassed an undamaged pride, he supposed.

“My men and I represent the Kanjiklub. We’re well-connected in the Outer-Rim and heard about Nevarro’s unstable situation. We saw a golden occasion here. There is no sponsor –only us.”

“The Kanjiklub –from Nar Kanji?” The apprentice ventured.

The other man’s dark eyes answered for him.

Obi-Wan remembered that name. He had heard about this planet during his Outer-Rim diplomacy classes: a virgin world colonized by humans, not very different from Nevarro itself. But where the volcanic planet had been protected by Telos IV, Nar Kanji had stood alone in Hutt space. The cartel had invaded it and enslaved the colonists, killing them massively in old non-secure mines.

It was a waste. It was tragic.

It didn’t give the survivors the right to terrorize Nevarro’s citizen either.

“I’ve been told your planet was free again –that you took advantage of a gang war within the cartel to drive the Hutts out. That was well-played.” Obi-Wan leaned backwards in his seat and gestured towards the governor’s guards. “I think you can lead them in their cell and give them medical care.” He turned his head in the pirates’ leader direction. “I won’t call the Hutts nor signalise your presence this time. But don’t provoke the Republic again.”

Master Jinn walked away from the wall and nodded. “You’re on the Order’s watching list, now. I would advise you to stay discrete in the years to come.”

The teenager watched the pirate been taken away, heavily monitored by Nevarro’s city guards. His teacher brushed a liana in his hair, tugging on his braid. “You were impressive, my young Padawan! I did not doubt you would make him talk but I couldn’t have imagined such quick results.”

Obi-Wan chuckled a bit at those words; Stars knew his Master was reputed for his skills in negotiation during hard times. He was still unorthodox about the whole thing as he didn’t always have the patience to listen to his host nonsense when the issue didn’t involve a humanitarian crisis or an interplanetary war.

“Maybe you’re inheriting this from Feemor; he’s the only one of our lineage to have the perseverance necessary to solve all kind of conflict”, his Master mumbled. “I remember Master Yoda even once struck the Prime Minister’s shins with his gimer stick when he started to whine about the cereals’ price. Yes, we’ll make a great negotiator out of you!”

His teacher’s faith warmed his stomach as the teenager was more doubtful about his actions. “Did I really make the right choice? Was it right, to threaten to sell their localisation to the Hutts?”

The Nyaman’s dark leaves moved a bit downward, almost mimicking a sigh. “We don’t often talk about this but negotiations, especially during a crisis, are rarely a beautiful thing, and never white-and-black. You did what you had to do; Nevarro’s people security rested on your shoulder. You used the weapons at your disposition.”

Obi-Wan bit his lips, still feeling a bit unbalanced and changed the subject. “How are you feeling, Master? Is your liana less painful?”

“Don’t worry about it, Padawan. Your bandage was well-done and we’ll put a bacta on the stump when’ll go back to the Temple. I’ll be as new.”

“New with fewer limbs –this analogy doesn’t work, Master.”

Governor Sadine chose this moment to enter the room. “Gentlemen, I’ve just seen my officer. Master Gruntd, the shopkeeper, is resting at the clinic. He’s old and he had a fright, today. We’re wrapping this case slowly but surely.” The woman rubbed a hand on her tired face. Her dark skin was marked by countless stressful and sleepless nights. “I wanted to thank you again for your help; we couldn’t have led this investigation by ourselves.”

“We only did our job, Governor. And seeing Nevarro recovering for the fall of the Telosian government and this series of attack will be enough of a reward,” Master Qui-Gon replied, saluting her.

“What are you going to do about those sewers?” Obi-Wan inquired politely. “I don’t think they should stay in the dark after yesterday’s events.”

“I agree with you, young man.” The Governor smiled –a small but relieve grin. “We’ll lead a cartography campaign soon, I hope. We don’t use those sewers for wastes nowadays but they could be employed in another way. In any case, this lack of knowledge costed us too much already. If I learned something with this disaster, it’s that to survive those unstable time, to get the upper hand on our adversary, we must know ourselves and our resources before all.”

The Governor’s statement graved themselves in his head and his heart as the two Jedi left the building to stand in the city’s streets. They found an unusual but beautiful echo in the sacred words of the Jedi Code.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

Outside, the sun was beginning its course in the sky. The air was cold and bit their skin, the lazy sunrays too short to heat their skin. The morning was starting, a few shops opening in the calm streets.

The night had been busy and Obi-Wan had lived through it with the impression that the sun would never shine upon his head again. Now that the pirates were behind the bars, a veil of tiredness was falling on him, numbing him.

“What are we going to do now, Master? We can’t really go off-planet until tomorrow –when we’ll be sure all formalities are complete. But the day has just begun.” The teenager suggested with an unenthusiastic tone: “Maybe we should start to write our report.”

The two Jedi exchanged an unhappy look.

“Or, perhaps… I think… we could go to the Twi’lek baths? To relax and revive ourselves? You’re maimed and we’re so tired. It wouldn’t do to make errors in our report due to our failing health.”

He finally put a nail in the coffin: “I’ve put a few credits in our bag before we left the Temple.”

Master Qui-Gon’s liana touched his shoulder proudly as if to say _‘what a serious and forestalling Padawan I have.’_

There was now an important choice to make.

.

.

Well, they’ll have time to do their report in the spaceship, no? 


	24. A Disgraceful Monarchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter for Master and Seedling!
> 
> I'm currently working on a contribution to the Jinnobi challenge; I hope you'll like it, too!
> 
> Enjoy <3

“I’m going to introduce you, then you’ll be able to enter the throne room.” The herald looked nervously at the two Jedi. “The King will be seated on the largest throne –the one crowed by a blue gem. Please, bow before him twice; when you enter the room and when you reach the green carpet. When you’ll be ready to speak, put a knee on the ground –or just… bend… if you don’t have knees,” the blond-haired man added, flustered, trying not to stare too long at Master Qui-Gon’s body.

The Nyaman was taking it graciously, if you wanted Obi-Wan’s opinion on the subject.

“Don’t worry, we shall respect those courtly rituals scrupulously,” he confirmed to the anxious man.

Obi-Wan passed his hands through his a-bit-too-long hair, taming them before the closed monumental doors. He took a moment to admire the tortuous and rich golden ornaments covering it, like petals on a rose. The craftsmanship was excellent and original, reflecting the opulent court life. 

His Master and he should have returned to the Temple after their last mission on Nevarro. They had indeed boarded on their ship, relaxed from the previous day’s afternoon in the Twi’lek baths. But Lady Luck hadn’t been with them and they had been rerouted by the time they had arrived on the Gordian Reach. Master Yarael Poof had seemed apologetic when he had announced their next assignment: Shu-Torun, a Mid-Rim Republic planet, was asking for their help.

He had explained as diplomatically as possible that their duo wouldn’t have been chosen if the circumstances had been different. But the King had died in a queer accident five days ago, leaving a young heir behind him. The new monarch hadn’t finished his formation and his life was in danger; he had barely survived an assassination attempt mere days after his crowning. He needed uncorrupted personal protection quickly –and they were the closest duo to the planet.

However, there was an additional difficulty in this mission. Obi-Wan looked through the large transparisteel windows, his gaze travelling down the gigantic black spires plunging into the bubbling lava lakes and rivers.

There was probably no planet more unsuited to his Master’s biology that this one.

An emergency was an emergency. Master Qui-Gon and he would still do their best to make this mission a success.

The herald’s muted voice reached his ears through the thick door. “Your Majesty, the two Jedi sent from Coruscant.”

The door leaves opened, revealing an immense and lavish room whose walls were covered by precious metals. Large chandeliers were hanging from the high ceiling, hundreds of crystals and gems raining down from them. Far away from the two Jedi, against the back wall, stood three carved silver thrones.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself and stare at this sumptuous décor; it was impossible to stay indifferent to this eccentric demonstration of power.

His Master and he bent and knelt as they moved forward, respecting the traditions told by the herald. The teenager was quite proud of himself when he managed to avoid making faux pas as they didn’t have any time to study the planet’s culture and history. They finally reached the guest carpet and waited there to be acknowledged.

“… Are those the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan’s head rose in surprise. As no more detail was forthcoming, he cleared his throat and spoke to the monarch.

“I’m Padawan Kenobi and this is Master Jinn; we’re here to guarantee your safety.”

The King’s low laugh deeply unsettled Obi-Wan. The teenager stared at the young ruler splayed on his throne, strawberry hair slicked backwards and eyebrows high on his forehead. An arrogant smirk grew on his lips.

“Is this a joke?” The man shook his head slowly. “My life is in danger and Coruscant sent us a kid with a twig. Am I to understand that my security isn’t important to the Jedi Council’s eyes?”

His mocking tone and cruel words made the teenager’s heart sink in his chest. Around them, the court became quiet.

“I don’t suppose I could exchange you against another one? A better one?”

Obi-Wan was just… numb. Frozen in humiliation and horror. He couldn’t imagine speaking again in this man’s presence. His vocal cords seemed to have shrunk in his throat. The teenager had a distinct impression of watching a train wreck.

“I’m afraid we’re the only Jedi you’re going to see in those difficult times,” Master Qui-Gon answered calmly. “We’ll have to find some common ground despite our differences.”

“How the mighty has fallen.” The monarch sighed dramatically. He made a gesture toward a servant. “Take them to the guest wing to settle down.” Then the King turned towards his sister, who sat by his side, and added with a clear voice: “I don’t want to see them more than needed.”

Obi-Wan and his Master were escorted outside as the court was able to exhale again. The Padawan’s breath, however, was still caught painfully in his lungs.

* * *

His fire boy was fuming, pacing agitatedly in their room. His red hair was flaming like embers on coal, reflecting the tortuous and angry expression graved on his face. The teenager was ruminating his thoughts, not paying attention to the sumptuous décor which was surrounding him.

“How can he say something like that? He’s a King; he should have a minimum of decency!”

Qui-Gon let him rant a few times before he decided to intervene; the boy always had a lot of energy to spend. “Please, calm down Padawan.” His apprentice went silent and came to a halt, obeying his soft demand. Not than Obi-Wan had already cooled off –Qui-Gon knew him well enough to recognise that.

“Come, sit beside me.”

The boy walked and knelt on the floor, automatically adopting a meditation posture, knees held tight together under his weight. _Good –he was receptive to his advice._

“Tell me; what are you feeling, my apprentice?” Qui-Gon interrupted him when the boy immediately opened his mouth wide, ready to spat all the thoughts going through his head. “Think about it and choose your words carefully.”

His Padawan grimaced but took the time to meditate about it. “I’m angry, Master. Absolutely furious.” He winced when he added: “I guess it’s not a very Jedi emotion to feel.”

A glint of amusement titillated the Jedi Master. “I can reassure you, my dear little apprentice; it’s impossible to _never_ be angry. Even Master Yoda or Mace have their moments. But as a Jedi, you have to acknowledge it and most of all, understand where it came from. That will give you the arms necessary to _never act on it_. So, Obi-Wan, why are you crossed?”

His fire boy tugged nervously on his learning braid –the very symbol of his dedication and faith. Perhaps the gesture was soothing to him, helping him to focus on his chosen path.

“I’m furious because I feel humiliated. And because I was caught off guard.” His apprentice gave him a small and tight smile. “I suppose I must explain myself.” As Qui-Gon nodded, the teenager continued. “With his words, he humiliated us. He looked down on you, my teacher, while we were offering him our time and energy to keep him alive. I was not especially hoping for gratitude but his attitude was misplaced and particularly troubling. I wouldn’t have reacted this way if your interlocutor had been an enemy. But he was supposed to be an ally –which is even more embarrassing.”

“And how do you feel about his remarks on you?”

His boy shrugged awkwardly. “I guess I’m kind of used to be underestimated. I don’t like to hear this kind of things because it makes me doubt myself. It makes me feel ashamed.”

“You do know that you have nothing to be ashamed of, Obi-Wan, don’t you?”

“But I do, don’t I? I mean, I was almost not chosen as a Padawan. People saw something lacking in me. You did, for a while.”

Qui-Gon’s lianas curled in surprise. “I absolutely didn’t. You were a promising young Initiate. Maybe this is why I hesitated. I saw something lacking in _me_. “

“I’m glad you changed your mind then; you’re the only Master I ever wanted.” Obi-Wan’s words warmed something tender inside him –a place only touched by a select number of appendages: Tahl’s long and honey-coloured fingers, Feemor’s sharp digits, Mace’s dark palms, Obi-Wan’s pink ones and Xanatos’ pale hands.

“It was difficult to hear them make a fool of you for this reason. I wanted to defend you –my Master! -but I couldn’t. All my clever tricks and words froze and disappeared under a thick layer of snow. I felt like I failed you, in the worst way,” he finally murmured, anger’s dying embers swept away by shame.

“You don’t owe me anything, Obi-Wan. My teaching isn’t conditioned by that. You need to be just, to listen to the Force and to my advice. This is what I demand of you –not to fight for me or to defend your idea of my honour. It’s not the first time someone looked down on me, and it won’t be the last. Honestly, I don’t care about that.”

“Still, he had such prejudices… And he’s supposed to govern this whole planet, to be the King of this absolute monarchy? He’s really a royal buffoon, this one!”

Qui-Gon’s lianas trembled with laugher.

_This mission isn’t going to be an easy one. But we’ll be alright in the end._

“Did I tell you about this time when I arrived on Juii? I was a fresh green-leaves young Knight. Somethings was poisoning the moon’s ecosystem and I was called to help. As my investigation took a good turn, I realised the local people, simple but joyful life-forms, were dedicating me a cult. I was so embarrassed…” 

* * *

Four days passed and the wheel of Shu-Torun’s festivity calendar continued to turn. Obi-Wan had quickly discovered that the court’s life was rhythmed by social events, religious celebrations and numerous courtly rituals. His Master and he spend the following days the shadowing the monarch during those various events, making themselves as invisible as possible –considering they had to follow the King’s every step.

Their relationship with the King had not improved at all. The young man’s attitude varied according to his mood. He could pretend that they didn’t exist for hours, his eyes never stopping on their face, his words never addressed to them. He tried his best to avoid them, to deny their existence –and his best was medal-worthy. Other times, his boredom led him to speak to them –more than once, he drew his fangs, cruelty dripping from them, and casually spread his venom. He critiqued Obi-Wan’s age, his stature, his lack of experience. And he took a malicious delight emphasizing Qui-Gon’s non-human species.

Obi-Wan’s gaze moved across the ballroom. Richly-dressed humans were waltzing on the polished stone floor, their footsteps lit by the planet’s magma. The ceremonial room was indeed built underground, its ornaments ignoring the sensation of the sunrays’ caresses. The walls were made of transparent crystasteel resistant to the high temperatures, offering an incredible view on the subterranean lava lake. 

A few feet away, Master Qui-Gon was standing guard, his back resting against the glass. Obi-Wan smiled at him, always happy to see his reassuring silhouette.

“Padawan Kenobi?”

The teenager turned his head, surprised to see a young woman waiting beside him. “Princess Yangle-Che, how may I help you?”

The King’s sister, draped in yellow and red, stood in silence. Her lips were painted thickly with a lipstick whom colour reminded him of fresh blood. “I want to dance with you, Jedi. Will you make me spin?”

The apprentice hesitated for a second. He did not particularly want to go on the dancefloor but wasn’t sure of the protocol to follow in those circumstances. The young woman didn’t let him tergiversate. “Don’t worry. Your master will be enough for tonight, I think. Come with me.”

Her small hand led him to the center for the room. The princess positioned his body with confidence and this act deeply troubled Obi-Wan. His emotions undulated beneath the dark waters. “A calm polka would be perfect.” The Padawan adjusted his grip on her hips and let her take the first step.

The stringed instruments began a vigorous score and Obi-Wan quickly focused all his attention on his legs to follow the Princess fast pace. The painted-face girl rested her head on the small of his neck as they twirled at the edge of the talented dancers. The Padawan was sure his face was flaming with embarrassment –however, he didn’t dare to ask her to step away. Their situation was unstable enough without risking to offend the King’s sister. 

“Listen carefully what I’m about to tell you, Jedi,” Yangle-Che whispered against his skin as glide to the left, following the melody’s fast tempo.

“You might not know the hidden complexity of our political system. Shu-Torun may be an absolute monarchy but much power reside in the member of our court. Those aristocrats are called the Ore-dukes –because they mine the ore at the origin of our planet’s wealth. The baronies responding to the King are rewarded with dangerous lands full of rich veins to exploit.” The two young humans moved apart slowly until they stood side by side, looking in the same direction. The princess seized Obi-Wan’s hand and they started to form a circle with the other couples.

“There has been some unrest in the Ore-dukes since the last years of Father’s reign. I believe there are two men in the middle of this: Mendel-Sun, a rich and powerful duke, ambitious enough to covet what isn’t his by right. And Au-Rion, Father’s legitimized bastard son, who would like to use his meagre royal blood to sit on the throne.” Yangle-Che smiled, her bloody lips slicing a red wound across her face.

“Those are only the two possibilities I thought of, but I believe you should start your investigation here.”

“Why are you telling me this, Princess?” Obi-Wan inquired, a bit troubled by her words as he put his hand on her hips again and made her spin.

“Because I know the King hadn’t taken the time to do it,” she answered bluntly. “I want him breathing and alive but I’m not blind by my brother’s smile. The King has a problem: he’s profoundly xenophobic. It’s sadly a common condition on this planet. Less than three percent of our population is registered as human-like or non-human. Someone like your mentor… let’s just say it’s not a common sight. And ignorance often breeds fear or hatred.”

“And you? Do you feel xenophobic?” The Padawan asked boldly to his partner, quite annoyed by her line of thinking.

“Please, I’m not stupid,” Yangle-Che sighed discreetly –probably to respect the ever-expanding list of social rules on use on Shu-Torun. “My planet is thriving thanks to the ore we’re selling off-world. Being xenophobic at this point would be bad for business.”

The music’s tempo slowed down before the dance ended. The Princess tapped her middle finger on his arm. “I hope this information will help you to find who’s trying to kill the King. Think about it, Jedi.”

Obi-Wan bent his head, expressing his public thanks to the Princess for the dance. He returned to his place –at the periphery of the room, at Master Qui-Gon’s side. His thought, however, continued to twirl in his head until he showered and lied down on his bed.

He had been troubled by Yangle-Che’s hands. By how they had felt on his hips, on his arm. In his own palms. The princess had been so sure, so confident when she had seized his body, moving it easily, even boldly, to fit her pace and need. She had leant against him, had touched his naked collarbone.

Her heavy perfume haunted his mind, giving him a headache.

Obi-Wan finally closed his eyes, exhausted, still unsure if he had liked this experience or not. 

* * *

Obi-Wan did his best to stay true to Master Qui-Gon’s words. His teacher had told him not to react to the King’s ‘jokes’, to the way he looked down on them. The Padawan did not know if he should be proud or ashamed of himself when he reigned his temper, again and again, letting the comments slide on him; when he did not react to the adversity his mentor encountered each morning after waking up.

The teenager wanted to fight back, to defend his teacher. Sheltered as he was in the Jedi Temple, he had never faced this kind of racism, of discrimination. There were so many different species in the Order’s headquarters, growing and living together. Xenophobia would be senseless. After all, the Jedi could scent that they were all equal in the Force.

This ordinary violence he was facing now, it was beyond words and unending. Cruel. Tiring.

However, more than anything, Obi-Wan had to follow his Master’s wishes.

So he carried on, investigating on the Ore-dukes, thinking the sooner this mission was ending, the sooner they’ll fly away from this planet. He met unsavoury characters, interviewed them and tried very hard not to react to their narrow view of the Galaxy.

Seated in the living room with the Queen Mother, he noted down her information about Au-Rion and the fight for the throne.

“I see your teacher isn’t here, Padawan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan noted again that for a specialist of etiquette, she didn’t use Qui-Gon Jinn’s well-earned title.

“He had something else to do this morning in the royal palace. A simple case of ‘divide and rule’, your Majesty.”

“Maybe it’s better for the interview,” the older woman smiled benevolently. “I mean, he doesn’t come from the same background than us. Could he understand everything that we are saying?”

Obi-Wan’s grin had a sharp edge he didn’t entirely manage to hide. “I’m quite certain he would not have any difficulty to understand us. Now, what can you tell me about Mendel-Sun? Is he linked to the royal family?”

At the end of their meeting, the Queen Mother fussed a bit over him. “I know my son isn’t always correct with you, Padawan Kenobi. I’m sorry about it. Please, know that I’m glad of your presence and I have nothing against your teacher. I think Mister Jinn does his job well. He must be so glad to be part of the Jedi Order! It must have been such an opportunity - for someone of his species I mean.”

She left the room quite satisfied, a proud smile on her lips, as if she had said something _good_ in here.

Did she even realise that she was as prejudice as her son? That her words were as violent and nonsensical as his?

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure she did.

* * *

Mendel-Sun was finally arrested a week later, his goods and lands seized as his felony was revealed to the King.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon didn’t wait for the court’s feast to leave the planet. By mutual agreement, they pretexted an urgency on Coruscant and packed their bags. The two Jedi exited the royal palace, walking on the polished ground made of compacted volcanic stones toward the landing bay. The atmosphere was thick and heavy; sweat was gathering on Obi-Wan’s forehead, darkening his hair.

To the Padawan’s surprise, someone was waiting for them on the tarmac. The King’s sister was indeed standing beside their rusty T-6 shuttle. Annoyance filled him, mixed with a sensation hard to identify: a bronzium weight resting in his stomach, something heavy and unwanted.

Her lips were not painted this time. Without the lipstick, they appeared thin and pink.

Obi-Wan did not want to see her.

“I’ve heard you were already leaving; I wanted to think you before your departure.” Yangle-Che brushed the back of her hand on her dress. “I’m a bit embarrassed by my brother’s attitude. He should be here and not feasting in the Great Hall. However, I cannot change him in a single day; I must choose my battles. So, thank you for your help. The King will be alive for a while with your assistance. He’ll have time to change and grow, to become a better monarch –and a better person. I believe in him. Goodbye, Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi.”

The Princess tilted her head down –a break in the protocol if Obi-Wan ever saw one. He still glad to see her back turning and moving away from him.

Unlike her, he didn’t believe her brother would one day make a good King.

But this problem wasn’t his, now. His job was done. If Shu-Torun wanted to open themselves to the rest of the Galaxy, they would do it. In their own time. Obi-Wan let his feelings go –his anger, his powerlessness, his frustration -and begin to do the pre-flight checklist.

_Time to go home._


	25. The Red Metallic Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again!  
> Here is the next chapter of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's adventures.  
> Enjoy!

Obi-Wan opened his eyes slowly, Coruscant I’s sunrays caressing his eyelids. He wriggled his toes, grimacing when he realised how stiff his neck was. The cause of his misfortune was easily identifiable; he was resting on their quarter’s couch and instead of his bed.

The teenager raised his head carefully, rolling his shoulders until he felt able to stand on his forearms. His body was covered by the green blanket his Master kept in their living-room –a gift from Master Tahl. His teacher must have covered him when he had fallen asleep, exhausted, after their long journey back to the Temple.

He vaguely remembered telling the Nyaman that he would rest five minutes on the couch before he unpacked his bag, took a shower and finally prepared himself to sleep. The Jedi Master had looked at him fondly in their quarter’s soft artificial light. But it had been the fourth hour of the day, Coruscant I hadn’t yet appeared in the ecumenopolis’ sky and Obi-Wan had closed his eyes one second on the sofa –just the right time to fall asleep.

“Not too stiff, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “A little bit, Master. Thank you for the blanket.”

“I feared you would catch a cold. Your human body –strong yet so fickle…”

The teenager moved the cover aside and took a few sleepy steps towards the table. He stretched his back and yawned behind his hand before he noticed a rather awkward problem.

For his defence, Obi-Wan’s whole body felt like a big bruise –their journey on the T-6 shuttle hadn’t been a peaceful one as his Master had encouraged him to work on his kata in the starship’s small rooms. The constraint had been an interesting but demanding one, leading to new bumps on his shins. Furthermore, since he became a teenager, the apprentice had gotten used to his body’s interesting new functionalities with a pragmatism envied by his friend Garen.

Therefore, he didn’t notice immediately his tenting pants.

Obi-Wan’s face turned the deepest shade of red as he grabbed the blanket again, covering his lower body. Nudity was one thing –and _this_ was another. _Stars, that was so awkward! So, so embarrassing! Just before his Master! It had to happen to him, hadn’t it?_

Awkwardness and discomfort filled the teenager, more than shame. _What a way to begin the day…_

“Obi-Wan? Look at me, please.” The teenager’s eyes rose reluctantly to meet his Master’s. “Sit at the table with me. I’ve made tea for us.” The Jedi Master gestured towards a terracotta bowl put on the table closed to a large basin.

Master Qui-Gon plunged a few lianas, drier than usual due to Shu-Torun’s harsh climate, into his tea and waited for Obi-Wan to take a sip before he continued. 

“I understand that this situation may seem very awkward to you –and I’m sorry it happened. However, don’t be ashamed on my behalf. There’s no need to be so horrified, Padawan.” Obi-Wan saw his Master’s leaves trembled with laugher and his shoulders slowly relaxed.

“It’s not the first time I have a humanoid apprentice. I know this is important for you, humans, but I really don’t care about it.” The Nyaman probably sensed his apprentice wasn’t convinced by his words and tried another approach. “Were you embarrassed when you saw my flowers? Did you feel uncomfortable?”

“Not at all, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, puzzled. “I mean, it’s just flowers.”

“Then you’ll understand that I’m not overly troubled by your human’s bits. It’s only another kirk of your species –just like the pollen and flowers are mines.”

Well. It was a sound explanation. Obi-Wan ceased to poke around his blanket, decided to willfully ignore his lower body and started to gulp his hot tea.

“However, you made me think about something important.” Master Qui-Gon stared at him through his thin creepers. “You’re going to need lessons about it, no? Like Xanatos? On the sex thing, I mean.”

Obi-Wan outright spat his mouthful on the table, coughing as he tried to clear his nose and throat. He could feel his ears burning.

“Really Master, there’s no need.”

“But you’re growing, Obi-Wan. You’re not so little anymore. You even have short hair sprouting on your face, now. You should know about those things. I don’t want your education to be lacking.”

“Please, Master. Believe me when I tell you that it’s not very important for me at the moment. It’s not in my priorities.”

“What are your priorities then, my apprentice?” His teacher tilted his upper body, amused by his apprentice’s reaction.

“I want to master Ataru -maybe to learn Jer’kai. I want to work enough to become a senior Padawan. I would like to spend more time with Master Dapatian and work on my visions, too. To discover more planets and worlds...”

“You’re so serious, my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan mopped his tea-moisten face with the sleeves of his dirty tunic, ready to be washed. “On that subject, how is our mission’s report going?”

His Master’s amusement slowly disappeared with this reminder, his body sagging on the chair. His lianas tangled themselves in an unmistaken scowl. He finally just said, dramatically: “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean by, you can’t do it?” Obi-Wan stared at him, blindsided by his audacity. He knew his Master despised this kind of formalities but it was a step too far, even for him.

“I mean that –literally. I _can’t_ do it. Mace gave me a new datapad to write down our missions’ reports. It’s supposed to be linked to the Archives’ database contrary to the last one. However, this _innovation_ doesn’t have a keyboard anymore. I can’t type on it; the touch screen doesn’t work with my lianas. It doesn’t register their movements.”

The teenager stared at his teacher with a frown. Knowing how much he balked when he had to write reports, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure to believe him. Were his difficulties genuine?

“Show me your new datapad, please?”

His Master bend backwards with surprising suppleness and held out the object in his vines. Obi-Wan repressed a sigh when he saw it.

“Look, Obi-Wan. I’m not lying! It doesn’t work!” The Nyaman switched it on and used his lianas on the screen, irradiating satisfaction when the device remained unmoved by his efforts. Obi-Wan didn’t stress the fact that he was sure this device worked fine without humanoid fingerprints as he had seen Master Srrn, a large grey and yellow Jedi Master whose species was an intelligent form of mushrooms, use it with their Padawan.

He also didn’t add that he had seen his Master consciously locked the screen with one of his smaller creepers.

Sometimes, his teacher’s bad faith new no limits.

Everyone had their own shortcoming, he guessed.

“Look, Master. If you want, you can continue to use your old datapad to write your opinion and experience about our missions and I’ll rewrite it on the Archives’ new device.” Obi-Wan knew how to pick his battles and this one wasn’t important. Especially when you knew that his meticulousness drove him to enrich most of his Master’s summary reports.

“You, are really a remarkable Padawan.”

Obi-Wan chuckled lowly in his bowl as he took one last sip of hot tea. 

* * *

“Hi! How are you, Obi-Wan? It’s been a while since we last saw you. You missed the previous reunion.”

The Padawan smiled to Minastrina, happy to see the Vuvrian apprentice. He sat down on the room’s colourful cushions next to her. “My master and I had a string of missions in the Outer Rim. It was interesting –but it’s good to be home at last.”

“Don’t remind me; I hate when assignments are piling up on each other. How is TooJay, by the way?”

“He’s always on the job, thanks to you!”

Tesla, the Togrutan Senior Padawan, rose to salute everyone and the crosstalk slowly quietened. “Welcome to this new session of J.E.D.I.! I’m glad to see you all. First, I wanted to present to you our new member. Meet Chen Djem, Master Srrn’s apprentice!”

She pushed a small Rodian forwards for them to see. Obi-Wan thought he must be rather young –maybe ten or barely eleven. The turquoise scales covering his whole body were somewhat unusual for a member of his species. His large pupil-less eyes captivated him; they shone as if they had captured a nebula.

Trenn broke the silence, his vocoder translating his sentence in basic. “Master Srrn? He’s the living mushroom, isn’t he?”

The poor Rodian blushed, his scales turning emerald in embarrassment. “They’re an Agarian.”

“What he meant to say was: hello, glad to meet you too,” Ciara added sarcastically. “Obi-Wan must be happy; he won’t be the only apprentice learning from a vegetal life-form anymore. You could almost build a not-so-secret subclub together.”

Chen’s head turned towards Obi-Wan and his eyes glowed like gemstones. _Awww. What a cute baby-Padawan._

“You can sit with us, now. Take a cushion on the pile here and choose your place!” Tesla explained lowly, pointing out the pillows set higgledy-piggledy in a corner.

The new member of their association seized a pillow and walked past the empty space left near the door. He stopped beside Obi-Wan and set his cushion down right on his left side. The boy sat so close to him that their elbows brushed each time one of them breathed in.

Obi-Wan blinked, surprised by his decision. He tilted his body forwards to have a better view of the space around him – _yes, it wasn’t a visual effect. There was plenty of space here. Why did Chen opt to be glued to him?_

The Padawan almost spoke up; he had always valued his personal space. Obi-Wan opened his mouth –and saw Chen’s hopeful face, his cheeks still dyed green with shyness. _How am I supposed to resist him?_

Obi-Wan was almost sure he heard Minastrina snicker ungracefully beside him.

“I heard the Agarian’s name was chosen by the Humans adventurers who discovered their settlement on Agaris,” added Ciara.

“Is it lawful? I mean, doesn’t it contradict the Republic’s right for the species to name themselves?” Minastrina inquired, her antennas wrinkled with incertitude.

“Master Srrn told me they didn’t really care about it,” Chen answered very quietly. “They needed a name to be recognized by others and someone found them one. It was all very convenient.”

“I was wondering; your teacher don’t have eyes, do they?” Minastrina asked, puzzled. “Or are they hidden somewhere..?” Obi-Wan recognized the idea could be bugging to someone who had so many pupils on her face.

“They don’t. But Master Srrn can feel the warmth we emit. They are also attuned with the Force.”

“And the Force knows no limit,” Tesla acknowledged. “And you, Obi-Wan? Are you going to narrate us your last trip in the Outer Rim?”

The auburn-haired Padawan sighed. “We started a mission on Nevarro but ended up on Shu-Torun. Both volcanic planets –what a stroke of bad luck. Long short story, Master Qui-Gon and I had to help an obnoxious and xenophobe King to remain in power. It’s just… disheartening.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. The monarch just spent the whole mission bad-mouthing my Master. His court wasn’t much better than he was, too. And Master Qui-Gon asked me not to get riled. It was hard –because I felt as if I failed him by staying quiet.”

“You took the right decision,” Trenn stressed. “Sometimes getting loud isn’t helping those who are discriminated. I already had this problem; Gigorans who are off-planet, like me, are more often than not confined to bodyguard duty –due to our reputation and our stature. The first time it happened, I thought my Master was going to have a heatstroke. But answering to them gives them power and waste your energy. You can’t educate everybody. Let them drown in their shame and ignorance –in my opinion, that’s a more fitting punishment.”

Ciara’s blue eyes were as hard as kyber crystals when she spoke. “Once, a senator mocked Master Grewlcht to my face. Laughed at his eye, questioned his intelligence. I can guarantee it to you: he did not do it twice.”

“What did you do?” Tesla asked, half-scared of her answer.

“I slapped him so hard my palm ended up printed on his cheek.”

Obi-Wan and Minastrina looked at her with wide eyes. “You did not do that.”

“I did it! I was put on probation afterwards,” she nuanced. “Master Windu and Grewlcht announced it personally to the senator. However, I spend most of this probation working with Master Fisto on Jar’Kai, the art of fighting with two blades. My passion. So to this day, I’m still uncertain whether it was really a punishment or a discrete reward…”

* * *

Time passed so quickly, as swift and terrible as the wind. Missions followed one other, each assignment unique, an opportunity to discover more about the galaxy –and the Force. There were friends to meet, planets to help, lessons to learn.

When Obi-Wan re-pleated his braid before the mirror, tying the pale blue link representing his studies of visions at the end of his auburn plait, he closed his eyes, thinking about those three years of apprenticeship.

Today was his sixteenth birthday –the eve of his fourth year at Master Qui-Gon’s side.

Bandomeer seemed so far away from him. Gone was the time when his place in the Temple had been uncertain. Obi-Wan was part of a lineage now, and each day and step carried closer to his knighting.

The teenager ran a hand on his utility belt, taking a small rock out of its pouch. The river stone his Master had given him for their first birthday together had slightly changed over the months. It was not overly visible –maybe the corners were a bit rounder, the summit more polished. It was in the Force that its presence was transfigured. Singing with the echoes of Nima’s sacred river, Master Qui-Gon’s imprint tickled him, intertwined with his own.

A permanent monument to their link.

Obi-Wan almost winced as a shard of anxiety stabbed him in the stomach. A new realization bloomed in his mind. With each year spend in his Master’s company, with each new hair on his chin and centimetre gained, the time by his Master’s side diminished. Soon, he would have to walk away from him, braid cut and teacher-less.

A knighting should be a moment of joy and accomplishment. However, the prospect of this absence was already painful.

Old Master Clawdian said that a living being and the Force are indistinguishable. That to be born in the Force meant already longing to join it again. That this path was inevitable.

_We come from the Force and end our life joining it._

This ancient philosophy applied to his apprenticeship. The day he started to walk on the Jedi Knight’s path, the end road was already sketched on the horizon.

The stone’s low music sung into his ears, lowly guiding him out his dark thoughts. Its well-known melody warmed his heart and comforted him, chanting:

_There was still time._

Obi-Wan caressed the river stone, a quiet and tender smile on his lips before he pocketed it again.

_Happy birthday to me._

When the Padawan walked out of the fresher, he was surprised to see Feemor standing in the living room. The Caamasi raised his arms to the sky. “Ah, finally. I was beginning to think you were going to spend the whole day locked in the shower. We have other things to do, apprentice!”

Obi-Wan noted with a glance that Feemor was particularly well-dressed this morning. His brown and grey fur was shiny and untangled, a delicately embroidered tunic draped on his shoulders. Ivory clouds were stitched on the collar and small red leaves peppered the long beige sleeves.

“Did you plan something, Feemor?”

Master Qui-Gon chose this moment to come out of his room. “Knight Att’Kla is taking you with him today! You don’t want to linger here, do you? At your age, it’s bad for your health. You must stay active. Go, I’ll work with Mace this morning!”

Obi-Wan blinked. He had the distinct impression of been shoved out of the way.

His Master curled a thick liana curled around his shoulder, leading Feemor and him toward the exit. “Have a nice day, boys!”

Obi-Wan turned his head just in time to see the flat’s door slammed behind them.

Yes, definitely shoved out of the way.

“… He’s preparing something, isn’t he?”

Feemor almost seemed pained by the Nyaman’s efforts. “Please, feign surprise this afternoon. He’ll be so disappointed otherwise.”

The two Jedi started to walk aimlessly in the corridors. At this hour of the day, Knights and Padawans were milling around, ready to begin their training and lessons. Obi-Wan’s eyes wandered on them as he quizzed his lineage brother.

“So, do you have a date or something?”

Feemor’s bewildered face was a joy to see. “What? No! Why would you think that?” The teenager vaguely pointed out his clothes and groomed fur.

“Let me stop you here.” The Caamasi shook his head, his snout swinging from left to right. “I really don’t do dates. It’s too much work for me.”

“So, did you really plan something for today?” Obi-Wan inquired with an impish smile.

“Actually, I did. There’s something I wanted to share with you.”

The Jedi Knight guided him towards the Temple’s higher levels, in an aisle Obi-Wan never had the opportunity to discover. It was near a terrace, with large windows offering a clear view of the city and the temple’s small gardens. The corridors were wide and well-lighted, offering a pleasant and peaceful sensation.

Feemor finally stopped before an open door, gesturing to Obi-Wan. “Come!”

The Padawan swiftly understood that this room was a workshop. A few paintings were hung on the ivory walls. Instruments and tools were lined up on a high shelf, the metal gleaming under the sunrays.

In the Force, this place was brimming with creativity.

“Ah, Feemor! I was waiting for you.”

A male Tholothian was smiling to them, seated on a stool. The humanoid seemed to be middle-aged, with a youthful grin but old eyes. His cranium was scaled, red fleshy tendrils flowing from it instead of hair, brushing his shoulders. Obi-Wan’s eyes stopped on his arms. The left one was ended beneath his elbow. His right hand was still here, but pale scars maimed its skin. The apprentice hadn’t stare long enough to count his fingers, but it wasn’t needed to realise all five weren’t here anymore.

“Obi-Wan, may I present you Master Budya. He’s an old friend of mine. Budya, this is Padawan Kenobi, my Master’s new apprentice.”

“Please to meet you, Obi-Wan.”

“You may have guessed it, but Master Budya is an artist. He has a project today and I wanted to show it to you. You’ll see, it’s truly exceptional.”

“You flatter me, old friend.”

Obi-Wan knew how much Feemor loved art. The Caamasi Knight often narrated his assignments during their free time together, for the Padawan’s joy. The palaces’ architecture, the intriguing objects he had seen during his mission often took an important place in his stories –as much as the politicians and new laws did. Obi-Wan loved this in him –his shining eyes, his calm, his slow and gentle passion.

Slow steps echoed in the corridor as someone else approached the workshop. “Ah, this may be our guest star.”

An old and bald man walked through the door. “Am I in the right place?”

Seeing this well-known face in the studio surprised Obi-Wan. “Master Dapatian? What are you doing here?”

The elderly Jedi laughed until he started to cough in his respirator mask. “I was invited to take the pose, I believe. Apparently, there is no age to do it.”

“Master Budya is going to represent you?”

“There is allegedly still too much free space in the Archives and they need benevolent Jedi to fill those empty pedestal.”

“It’s an honour, Master Dapatian!”

“Oh, my boy, I’m not sure about it. I tried to tell him to choose somebody else. Nothing is inspiring in an old thing like me, breathing thought an apparatus. If they wanted a model for the next generation of Jedi, they should have chosen young Mace Windu. He’s brave and selfless –and a truly striking figure, at least.”

Master Budya grinned as he began to gather his tools. “You must believe me; they wanted you because you’re inspiring in your own way. Stay as upright as you can on your chair; and if you need a pause, just ask me. We’re in no hurry.”

The Tolothian stretched his left stump, using the Force to seize a large red metallic leaf. Coruscant I’s light made it shone like a new sun.

“Now, see Obi-Wan,” Feemor murmured. “This is beauty -in its purest form.”

Master Budya’s eyes became half-closed as rose his arms and begun his work. The spectacle was fascinating. He used the Force to strike and shape the metal, here curving the tip of a nose, there underlining eyebrows and engraving a wrinkle on a domed forehead.

His art was a slow one. The Force was his hands, the metal his clay.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have dared to break the religious silence if Master Dapatian hadn’t started to speak.

“How was your last mission, young Jedi?”

“Good, if a bit unexpected. Master Qui-Gon and I had to jump into Eriadu’s Inner Sea to shake off pursuers. I’m glad I follow my premonition and took a second aquata breather. My first one died on me when our speeder crashed.”

Poli Dapatian’s eyes were a bit wide as he looked at him. “You always surprise me, my boy. I’m sure our assignments weren’t as exciting when I was younger.”

Two or three hours passed before the session came to an end. Put on a stool, a new bust was ready to join the Archives. The red-tinted metal gleamed, giving a star-like echo to Master Dapatian’s calm and compassionated face.

When Master Budya began to store his tools, Obi-Wan rose to help him to clean the room.

“What did you think about this session?” The Tholothian Master asked the teenager.

Obi-Wan’s enthusiasm bled into his voice. “It was truly exceptional! Nothing like what I imagined.”

“And what did you imagine, Padawan Kenobi?”

“Honestly, I’ve never thought about who crafted those sculptures.” Obi-Wan felt his ears becoming red as he continued to dig his hole. “I kind of thought -that they were just always there. I’m a bit ashamed of it, now.”

Master Budya burst out of laughter –a loud, graceless but comfortable laugh, like a hot wind. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself –a lot of Jedi have the same thoughts. That’s why Feemor’s such a pearl.”

Obi-Wan smiled as he put a stool away. Despite himself, the teenager stared again at Master Budya’s stumps when he turned his head. The Jedi saw his glance but didn’t appear to be troubled by it. He only added, eyes lost on his tools: “It happened such a long time ago. I couldn’t be a field Jedi anymore, so I had to become something else.” 

* * *

When Obi-Wan came back in his quarter with Feemor, he was welcomed with confetti thrown in his face. He almost sighed as he realised he would have to clean this mess afterwards.

Then, Garen jumped on him and gave him a bear hug. His friend’s shoulders had become wide and strong during their time apart. Obi-Wan gripped them tightly. Bant’s voice excited low voice came to his ears. Master Qui-Gon stood behind them, a large figure beside the couch. Tahl was sitting at his right, her hand on one of his creepers. Her gentle smile was blinding.

Obi-Wan decided to let those cleaning considerations for tomorrow and lost himself in the moment.

_Those were happy times._


	26. The Calm Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to see you again!  
> I'm fighting a lot of anxiety those days, so updates will be slower to come. It's difficult to write in those conditions.  
> I hope you're well, wherever you are!  
> Please, enjoy this brand new chapter and leave a comment if you liked it!

“Are they serious?” Bant’s face was hilarious. Her pink skin had turned purple around her eyes and her gills were fluttering.

“Yes, they are, young apprentice.” Qui-Gon answered –his voice a savant mix between playful and genuine.

Master Tahl petted her Padawan’s head with a smile. “Nobody’s going to force you if you don’t want to wear that, Bant.”

“It’s just… there’s no enough cloth on that thing. It won’t cover anything!” Her arms were flaying on her sides, anxiety winning over her manners.

“Technically, there’s no fabric at all,” Obi-Wan added unhelpfully. “It’s made of a dried-out gourd. There’s a string of fiber at the top, too. What do you think, TooJay?”

The teenager could feel the weight of Tahl’s disapproving sightless eyes on him and hid his grin behind his hands.

The personal navigation droid turned his head towards the object of their inquiry. “I confirm your diagnostic, Master Kenobi. This handmade artefact is made at ninety per cent of a gourd coming from a native tree. My data specify that those trees are particularly important in the locals’ culture. Their houses are built right beneath them.”

“I don’t really understand why we should wear this,” Bant ranted. “We never dressed according to local fashion during our previous missions. And the Jedi’s garb is well-known thought the universe. It’s a symbol of peace –of help. Isn’t it an asset for the negotiations?”

Obi-Wan saw his Master give a helpless look to Master Tahl. _It was true that the Jedi didn’t have a lot of experience to share._

“Yes, wearing a uniform can be helpful. But each assignment is unique, Padawan, and in some cases, it’s not the best choice to make.” Tahl answered in a calm voice. “Wearing local clothes can help us to blend in when it’s necessary. It’s also a way to show respect to a different culture and to honour their beliefs. If you want an example, you should know that it’s impossible to have access to the Shadow University’s archives if you do not wear gloves. I always have a pair a black on me when I negotiate with them. Men must also cover their head hair if they want to enter into Carlac’s sacred temples.”

“I see, Master,” Bant answered, still troubled. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure she was convinced by her teacher’s arguments.

Tahl appeared to be on the same page as he. “What can you tell me about this mission, Bant?”

“We were called by Ledeve’s native population. The Jedi Order had signed a treaty with them years ago. In exchange for our protection and help to negotiate the exploitation of the planet’s natural resources, they agreed to let us establish a small temple in the forest.”

“Their planet’s underground is rich in gas-field, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan asked the Jedi Masters.

“Yes, it is. The gases are especially concentrated underneath the forest –the native population’s land. We accompany their elected representative during the negotiations: our presence here acts as a buffer. It’s an exchange of friendly services. But something happened recently –something which disturbed this treaty. Obi-Wan, did you read the full report Master Windu send to us?”

The teenager blushed a bit. “I read most of it, Master. I understood that one of the Order’s spaceships crashed when they tried to land during a tempest last week. The Jedi survived without life-threatening injuries. However, the tanks were damaged and fuel leaked from the crash site, poisoning the soil.”

“The Order’s in the wrong,” Tahl explained, her veiled green stripped eyes fixed on the colossal trees surrounding them. “Feel it; even without sight, I can see the forces of nature here. Its overwhelming presence.” She paused for a moment. “Its sickness, too. I guess last week’s consequences are already here.”

Master Qui-Gon’s silhouette trembled, his lianas and leaves shivering as if a strong wind had played with them. “Yes, I can feel it, too. I’m glad we came here quickly to take care of it.”

“When you say we’re on the wrong-” Bant began.

“I mean that we have to make amends,” her teacher clarified. “Ledeve’s native people signed this treaty to protect their heritage, their fragile and fruitful land. Not to see it damaged by our carelessness. This ship shouldn’t have tried to land; they had enough fuel to stay in orbit while the tempest recessed. But the pilots didn’t do it.”

“The Order shouldn’t have sent this kind of spaceship to Ledeve in the first place,” Master Qui-Gon added. “It’s an outdated model powered by dangerous and polluting fuels. If we had been diligent, we wouldn’t have chosen it for this mission, preferring a newer and safer ship. Old freighters like this one can be put to better use on urban worlds.”

“This is why we have to be beyond reproach during this mission,” Tahl concluded. “And what impression would it make if we came to see them without submitting ourselves to their traditions?”

Bant sighed, her pink gills fluttering noiselessly. “So we have to wear this.”

“One of us has to,” her teacher conceded.

Obi-Wan and his friend exchanged a look. Master Qui-Gon would not be the one to put it on as he didn’t have the right parts to put in the right holes.

Well, then. That left Bant, who seemed to be really dismayed by this idea, Master Tahl and he. The choice was easy.

He volunteered.

“Are you sure, Obi-Wan?” His Mon Calamari friend fretted.

“Yes; it doesn’t actually bother me. I just wonder; why is it so short?”

“Maybe due to the climate?” Bant suggested, only half-convinced. Ledeve’s weather was not _this_ warm, after all.

They turned towards TooJay. The personal navigation droid searched for an answer in her databanks and finally nodded. “Those ceremonial clothes are often worn during negotiations or encounter between families. It is a traditional and non-verbal way to show that we mean no harm and wear no weapons.

_It was true that no blasters nor blades could be hidden beneath those clothes._

“The Force is with us; so this no-weapon rule doesn’t really work with Jedi,” grumbled the definitively sullen teenage girl.

Obi-Wan didn’t answer; he knew Bant was calm and patient –until she got into a snit. Then she became more stubborn than he, and terribly unpleasant. He grabbed the piece of cloth and start to strip.

_He had a mission to do, after all.  
_

* * *

Bant breathed in the moist air of Ledeve. It did marvels on her skin, hydrating her in a way the Temple’s regular moisture-keeping clothes couldn’t. The Padawan had spent a lot of time on Coruscant those last months and going out in the field was a joy, if a bit tricky. She had to be as adaptable as possible, which was a skill she knew she had to work on. She was sometimes acting _too_ _proper_ for the mess of the field.

Fortunately, her Master was always there to shake her out of her unyielding shell. Tahl was still trying to teach her to be flexible and to bend like the anemones of her water world. The Noorian Jedi would often put a warm hand on her shoulder and guide her through her questions and doubts, her light and intelligence brightening their path.

Master Tahl had her own way of doing things. There was a reason her dearest friend was the maverick Qui-Gon Jinn; she often walked off the beaten track, following the Code, the Force and her intuition before all. She was an archivist, who dug into History and old reports to find the luminous truth. She taught her to love libraries, the sensation of flimsiplast beneath her webbed fingers and a good mystery. But more than that, she gave her the tools to make her own choices, to follow nobody’s will but her own.

She gave her hope, also. Hope that everything could be remade. She told her that the biggest lie the Galaxy would try to make her belief was that everything has an end.   
After Melida/Daan, the Noorian had sat on the floor beside her, their knees touching, her presence embracing her in the Force. She had told her quietly, like a seaweed rustled by the currents:

_There is no end, Padawan._

_I have no sight but I have the Force. I’ll not cease to be a Jedi. I was not unmade. I was changed._

_Believe me; we are eternal. Stars do not end. They transform into dust. A dying tree will turn into fertile soil for its seeding.  
I, too, will become ashes. But do not cry! I’ll not be gone. I’ll be changed, again. I was already so many things. Someone’s child. An Initiate. A well-loved apprentice. A young Knight. A friend. With you, a mentor. A Jedi with eyesight. Then only a soul-seeing one._

_One day, I’ll be one with the Force. Always here. Always Tahl._

_Things do not end, Bant. They transform themselves._

Sometimes, Bant felt so full of love for her teacher that she couldn’t understand how she did not burst, light and seawater flowing from her like a river.

A noise caught her attention, snapping her out of her thoughts. The teenager turned toward their ship just in time to see Obi-Wan joining them, his Jedi uniform carefully folded in his arms.

“It did not take you long,” Bant noted.

Her friend raised his hairy eyebrows. “It’s not like I had a lot of things to wear.”

Most of Obi-Wan’s body was bare, indeed. Bant could see beige skin everywhere. His colouring was strange, very different from her species’ bright ones: her salmon-shaded epidermis or even the pale blue complexion of the Mon Calamaris living in the planet’s coldest seas. It wasn’t even dark, like her teacher’s honey skin. His body was beige, soft and fragile, just like the ancient flimsiplast books she loved to read in the Archives.

Bant had already seen her friend’s long legs and tiny ridiculous toes; they were always bare when the two of them swam in the Temple’s artificial lake. But his calves seemed to be covered by a thin fur, now. How strange. Long and lonely hair also grew in the middle of his chest and between his tights. It framed the dried-out gourd hiding his genital organs from view. The hard cone-shaped artefact was lying on his belly, held in place by a rough thread made of natural fiber and wrapped around his neck.

The Mon Calamari found all this hair unpleasant but chose not to tell Obi-Wan.

He would make a sad face if he knew she found him ugly.

“Thank you for volunteering, Obi-Wan,” Tahl thanked him. “Do you need help to put away your clothes? I still have some space in my bag.”

“Thank you, Master,” the teenager answered gratefully as he held out his uniform. “We need to walk to the village, now. It mustn’t be far away. Do you have a map, Master Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan turned around, showing his backside to the world without an ounce of modesty. His teacher appeared as unperturbable as he. “It should be just behind those trees, one klick away. Be careful and look at the ground; I don’t want you to walk on a ferncrab. It would hurt the sole of your feet.”

The auburn-haired teenager jumped, staring at Master Jinn. “What do you mean, ferncrab? There are ferncrabs on Ledeve?!”

“If you pay attention to your steps, it shouldn’t be a problem,” the Nyaman added, his amusement diffuse in the Force.

The two Jedi led the way, bickering gently as they avoided the crab-like monstrosities hiding in the bushes.

Bant looked at her Master. Her lips were curled in a smile. “He has absolutely no shame, hasn’t he?”

The Noorian bend her head backwards, the sun shining in her mane like a crown and burst into laughter. 

* * *

The village’s elected representative was staring at him.

Obi-Wan almost bit his tongue as he chewed the hard orange vegetables served on the table. It was hard to stay focused and to swallow this frankly terrible dish when he could feel the weight of the chairman’s inquisitive eyes on him.

The man didn’t speak much, for a politician. Instead, the silent man used his face, his eyes and his hands to convey his approbation or dissatisfaction. His dark green lips remained closed, his long amber-coloured hair braided backwards, keeping his eyes free. His moss-like skin was bare, like Obi-Wan’s, and a thin thread was tied around his neck, keeping his genitals hidden in a sheath.

The Jedi and the village’s inhabitants were all kneeling on cushions around a long rectangular table, sheltered inside one of the extraordinary pear-shaped houses built beneath the trees. The clay walls were pierced by large windows. Ledeve’s forest seemed to enter into the room thanks to them, an undertone of flowers and soil drifting through the openings. Obi-Wan could hear the birds chirping in the foliage.

Master Qui-Gon sat on his right, his lianas tangled around him. The Jedi was lucky, as he didn’t have to eat anything. Obi-Wan swallowed his mouthful with difficulties and smiled to the elected representative’s son –the man who cooked the main dishes.

_Damn. What would he give to become a vegetal life-form! Forever growing and living from sunrays and water. Never to eat ‘local food’ again._

_What a dream!_

Bant and Tahl were speaking to their hosts a few seats away. The Mon Calamari’s apprentice nodded as she answered their questions about the Order, the shared meal encouraging communication and broadening the minds.

“The younglings are raised together. Once their parents chose to give them to the Order, they are bought to the Crèche and introduce to a clan –a group of ten or twelves children.”

“Are they raised by one Jedi? Or by many?” A young man asked in halting basic.

“A lot of people contribute to their growth. A Crechemaster is assigned to them early on but Masters, Knights, apprentices and EduCorps members participate actively to their educations. For my part, I introduced the Archives to younglings last month. I was trying to offer a first happy and stimulating contact with the place.”

A teenage girl opened her arms. “This is something we have in common, then. My mother says, ‘it takes a village to raise a child!’ The babies and little ones sleep together while the community takes care of the women who gave birth. No pregnancy is harmless; they need time and love to recover. Personally, I like to tell the little ones stories. Sometimes, I sneak outside at dusk to tell them old tales and legends.”

Obi-Wan saw an older woman frown to the girl as she spoke. _Someone was going to going to be in trouble after the diner._

It was the moment the elected representative chose to talk to him.

“Those clothes fit you well, young Jedi. We appreciate your gesture.” The man nodded towards his dish. “Do you want more vegetables?”

In his eyes and his words, Obi-Wan read acceptance and a tinge of approbation. The teenager glowed as his Master’s proudness spread across the Force. Then his gaze travelled on the table and his palate curled up to die as he gave the politician a large smile.

“Yes, of course! I’d love to have more vegetables. How do you call this dish, Your Honor?”

* * *

The four Jedi went to the crash site the next morning. The surrounding trees were blackened and the ground was scorched; there was no doubting the violence of the accident, even if the ship’s wreckage had already been taken apart and moved away.

They sat on the burned grass in a circle, their bodies a few feet away from one another but their spirits connected. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and turned inwards. His mind was a beach and waves caressed his thoughts, plucking them, leading them away one by one towards the abyss, dark and cold and quiet and reassuring. Put away beneath the fishes. Until there was no sand left on the beach.

His mind was perfectly quiet.

Obi-Wan could turn outwards, now.

The apprentice stretched his consciousness like one of his dear teacher’s lianas, taking the pulse of his environment. The darkness greyed, lightened and suddenly, he could _feel_.

 _Feel_ the bird hopping on the root, the bulb growing strong hidden in the ground, the moss eating and the wildflowers singing praises, the earthworm digging tunnels for his long and slick body.

He was the root –the blind and cold worm –the hatchling –he was _eating chasing growing mating dying-_

Something touched his mind. _Soft_. A caress. Reminding him of who he was. Guiding him through his meditation.   
Obi-Wan could have sighed as let his mind be carved like a flower. _Master._

When he was able to focus, the tangled and spreading iridescent web growing underneath him appeared overwhelming. The fuel leaked almost lazily, polluting the soil and damaging the trees’ roots.

 _Oh_.

Obi-Wan could see the others around him, shining like stars, their spirits and Force presences mixing, intertwined like branches from the same tree.

He thought they must draw a constellation of their own on Ledeve’s scorch ground.

The Living Force was at their fingertips. Together, they touched the gleaming fuel-web and _smudged_ it.

It took time, but when Obi-Wan’s mind-beach filled with sand, the clearing’s soil was purified. Ready to welcome life again.

* * *

They were almost ready to leave.

Tahl sat on the grass with one of the village’s little girl. Her back was straight against the tree’s rough bark as she braided her amber-coloured hair, tucking little white flowers in it while the girl laughed.

She was bright in the Force, generous; and this view made Qui-Gon’s trunk felt tight.

Beside him, his autumn-head apprentice spoke to the village’s elected representative. The man was wearing his traditional penis sheath to see them off, as a mark of respect.

“We thank you for your swift intervention, Jedi Knights. Just-” He bent a bit forwards, his eyes serious as he talked to them “Never use this kind of ships on Ledeve’s again.”

The sixteen-year-old boy nodded with wide eyes under Qui-Gon’s soft gaze. Tahl said her last goodbye, following Bant and TooJay towards their ship. The Nyaman tousled his boy’s hair and the teenager didn’t duck beneath his liana, enjoying the open show of affection.

They left Ledeve’s peaceful forests and shot through the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a kudo or a comment, even short, if you liked this work! It really encourages me to write ;)


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